


Lies and Vodka

by glitterrcritter



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Acid Trips, Bad Decisions, Breathplay, Childhood Trauma, Drug Use, F/M, Falling In Love, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Strangulation, Substance Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships, bad tattoos, mostly pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterrcritter/pseuds/glitterrcritter
Summary: Before John Seed was the Baptist for the Project at Eden’s Gate, he was John Duncan, rising lawyer in Atlanta. Fresh out of college and already charming his way to the top, John tries to move past the darkness of his childhood, but there’s a siren luring him back in. Against his better judgement, he falls in love with her and it seems everything he ever wanted is within his grasp. And then she disappears.





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to have a warning that  
> this story contains detailed descriptions of drug use & abusive situations. & vague references to self harm.  
> in no way is any abuse meant to be gratitous  
> some characters will romanticise it (& the absurdity of that will be pointed out) but abuse is not normal or something to aspire to in real life  
> don’t let anyone treat u the way my characters treat each other lmao

Sometimes he wondered if she’d just been a dream. If her songs, her smirk, her scars had all been a figment of his imagination. Then he’d look down at his index finger, at the heart she’d pricked into his skin, and he knew she had been real.

She’d passed in and out of his life like floodwaters. One minute he’d been fine, feet planted firmly in the earth, and the next she’d rushed in and he was drowning in her icy depths. And then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone and he was left gasping and sputtering for air.

He alternated between missing and hating her. Mostly, he did both.

She’d disappeared so well, hidden every trace of her so thoroughly that even his money couldn’t touch her. And he’d invested a lot in trying to find her over the years. He’d filled a missing persons report, visited the places they used to frequent, hired private investigators- he even still paid someone to check the Jane Doe’s in Atlanta for any sign of her.

It was all in vain.

He didn’t even know her real name. He was sure the one she had given him was fake, though she never admitted it. He wasn’t certain her birthday was true either and he didn’t even have a picture of her anymore. She’d taken all of them with her when she left. Sometimes, late at night or in the company of a stranger, he tried to picture her, tried to bring her image to mind, but it escaped him. He couldn’t even remember her face.

Over the years, he’d come to know one truth about her, the only truth he was certain of. He’d only find her if she wanted to be found.

———————  
The bar was a small, low-life establishment, the scent of stale piss lingering in the air. This wasn’t his usual evening haunt, far from it, but his colleague had insisted. He’d told him he was trying to get in with one of the singers who performed here and he needed a wingman. John had begrudgingly obliged him, putting on the face of eager helpfulness, happy to assist a friend. He knew that making his colleagues and bosses like him was just important as his job performance if he wanted to succeed, if not more so.

He settled at one of few empty tables, his colleague taking the seat beside him. The bar was fuller than it should have been for the run-down place it was, let alone on a Wednesday night.

They watched as a girl walked onto the stage to an applause that was too enthusiastic for the shitty bar. His colleague joined in, giving her a low wolf whistle.

“That’s her,” he whispered, as if it wasn’t obvious.

She stood before the mic stand, turning to smile at the guitarist beside her.

His colleague was perhaps a little too ambitious in this pursuit; she was far too pretty for him. Unless he wanted her as a whore, only interested in him for his money. That was a much more achievable prospect.

Her long, red hair was half pulled up, loose strands spilling out to frame her red lips and dark eyes.

But John wasn’t staring at her face, or her hair, or her figure, no his attention was elsewhere. He was focused on her hands, cradling the microphone.

 _Pride_ was written on the side of her right hand in neat, cursive letters.  
_Wrath_ was spelled out on her left.

She wore her sins openly, carved into her skin. Was it her self-proclaimed pride that wanted them there? No, he decided as he watched her. It was acceptance. An attempt to conquer them.

“-but we can talk about that tomorrow,” his colleague said beside him.

He hadn’t heard him; he’d been distracted. She started to sing and thankfully his colleague’s attention was taken before he realised.

_Vacancy was lit, the guests were checking in_

Her voice wasn’t the best he’d heard, far from it, but it was enchanting in its own way. At once soft and raspy- flittering between low, sultry tones and high, delicate melodies. A siren’s call.

_The room was fit for two, the bed was left in ruins_

She was a natural on stage. She radiated an intoxicating energy that seemed to draw the audience closer, hanging on her words.

“Damn, I want a piece of that,” his colleague said.

He had to agree.

_Touch me, yeah_

He felt heat pool in his belly at her words. He wanted her. And he always got what he wanted.

_I want you to touch me there_

She dragged her hand down the mic stand, the movement slow, languid, a sinful look in her eyes as she bit down on her bottom lip.

By her performance and her lyrics he thought she might need _Lust_ tattooed on her hand, too.

Her songs faded into others and with each melody he became more and more enthralled.

His colleagues phone buzzed on the table, breaking her trance.

“Fuck, that’s the wife calling. Gotta call it a night."

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately. You’ll have to be my wingman some other time. See you tomorrow, John."

He finished his drink and left, sparing a glance back to the singer.

John stayed until the end of her set, until she walked off the stage and over to the bar. She spoke to the owner, laughing politely with patrons who tried to seduce her.

She downed a shot of vodka, and excused herself from the others, slipping out a side door guarded by a bouncer.

John left too, adjusting his suit jacket as he walked out the front entrance. He expected her to be more hidden, trying to dodge her suitors in an alley or something, but she stood on the street, a few shops down from the bar, leaning against a storefront window. She pulled out a cigarette and drew it to her lips, looking for her lighter in a bag she wore on her wrist.

She cursed under her breath and he could have sworn it wasn’t in English, but it wasn’t loud enough to discern.

Perfect. He’d never had an easier opportunity.

“You need a light?” he asked, voice smooth and steady.

She gave him a gracious smile.

“Yes, please.”

He grinned. His favourite word.

His stride was confident, arrogant even, as he walked over to her.

“I liked your singing.”

“I know,” she replied, cigarette pursed between her lips. “I saw you watching me."

Her lips curled into a smirk as she looked up at him, coming to a stop a few steps closer than necessary.

He could tell she wasn’t from Atlanta, or Georgia in general from her accent. It was American but hard to discern, like she was from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“I’m John,” he offered, bringing the lighter up to her cigarette.

She looked into his eyes with an intensity that made him uneasy. This close, he could smell her perfume, rich, with a hint of cinnamon.

“Cara,” she said, almost dismissively, like it didn’t matter.

She took a long drag, the smoke billowing into the night air. His eyes lingered on her sins.

“Where are you from?”

“Around,” she offered, a dark secret in her eyes. She wanted to be a transient thing, not belonging to a place or person.

He knew women like this. They usually irritated him, dodging his questions in an attempt to hide just how boring and typical they were, but something about her, her eyes or her smile, or maybe the writing on her hands made it seem less like she was trying to be interesting and more like she just was.

“Have you been here long?"

“In Atlanta? A few weeks now. I’ll probably move on soon. Spent too much time here already."

She was drunk, he realised, from the slight slur to her words. He wasn’t exactly sober, either, and the whiskey made him bold.

“Are you running from something?”

She paused, a hint of humour gracing her features, taking another drag.

“Isn’t everyone?"

He swallowed.

“What were you doing in a bar like that?” she asked, a spark of curiosity in her eyes, “You’re not the usual patron. Judging by that suit and that watch on your wrist you’re making bank."

She eyed the watch like it was hers. It unsettled him. He got the sense that she liked to get what she wanted, too. Did she need _Greed_ on her hands as well?

“My friend wanted to seduce you,” he admitted.

She laughed, her interest peaked, gesturing to him with her cigarette.

“And yet you’re the one here."

It did seem underhanded when she said it like that. She didn’t seem to mind though, more amused than anything else.

He gave her a sheepish smile.

“He had to leave."

“You’re not much of a friend then, stepping on his toes like this."

It was an accusation but her eyes were full of mirth.

“We’re more colleagues than friends,” he replied with a shrug, caught out. He hadn’t expected her to interrogate him like this.

“And what is your line of work?"

“I’m a lawyer,” he said and she smirked, as if to say of course you are.

“What?” he asked at her expression.

“Nothing. It’s just _fitting_. Your smile, your clothes, your smug aura… I should have guessed."

He didn’t know whether to be offended.

“You’re young, though. Just out of college. Bet you bought that watch with your first pay check,” she said, pointing at it with her cigarette.

“You say that as if you’re older than me."

She laughed, the sound raspy like her singing.

“Maybe I am."

“You can’t be over 21."

“You flatter me,” she said, not revealing anything.

She brought the cigarette to her lips again and his eyes lingered over the words once more.

“Are those your sins?”

She looked down at the words, eyes flittering over them with a gaze that was almost nostalgic.

“Mhm, among others,” she replied, the tease of more on her lips.

“Yeah? What are they?"

She smirked, her eyes dark, leaning forward, dangerously close to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?"

He swallowed.

“Yes,” he said, after a moment. “I would."

She grinned at his boldness, resting back against the storefront.

“I can tell. But first tell _me_ something, John, what are your sins?"

Before he could answer, she spoke again, her voice low and taunting.

“I think I already know them."

“Yeah?” he said, taking a step forward towards her. “And what are they?"

She just smirked, reaching for his neck as she drew him into a deep kiss. He responded in kind, his hand settling on the curve of her waist as he moved closer to her, pinning her against the wall. Her hand travelled down his neck and reached between them, moving lower and lower. She cupped him through his trousers, teeth grazing his jaw as her lips kissed their way to his ear.

“Greed,” she whispered and his heart sped up in his chest. “Gluttony. _Lust_."

As if on cue, he hardened at her words. He could practically feel her grin.

She nipped at his ear and pulled back from him, taking a last drag of her cigarette before tossing it onto the floor. She held the smoke in her mouth for a moment before blowing it out into his face. He squinted against the assault, stepping back from her, freeing her from his grasp.

She practically twirled away and started walking off, heels loud against the sidewalk.

“Where are you going?” he asked with both amusement and annoyance, but mostly the former.

She spun around to face him, walking backwards.

“To a party. Want to come?"

He had work in the morning. Not that it ever stopped him before.

“Sure,” he said with a grin, catching up to her as she spun back around.

~~


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for drug use & mentions of self-harm

The day Cara left him began as a Sunday morning like any other. He rolled over, squinting against the light escaping from the curtains. He wasn’t surprised to find the other half of the mattress cold and empty. Cara would be at church. He still chuckled at the thought. She was so full of contradictions. He’d offered to go with her a few times, but she always denied him. Insisted her worship was her own.

His eyes drifted to the clock sitting on the bedside table. _13:07_. He’d overslept. She should be home by now.

“Cara?” he called as he sat up, running a hand through his hair, but he was met with silence. He frowned. She usually stuck around for more than one night.

He supposed she was probably upset with him, despite saying otherwise. He'd thought it weird that she wasn’t. Part of him had hoped she’d yell, curse him, hit him for what he did- but she hadn’t. She’d shown nothing but silent acceptance.

He didn't notice at first, not as he padded into the kitchen to put on a cup of coffee, not as flicked through the newspaper, not as he showered. No, it was only when he opened his wardrobe to get dressed for the day that he saw. Many of her clothes were missing. All the fine dresses remained, including the one she’d worn the night before, but the simpler things like tee-shirts and underwear were nowhere to be seen. He walked over to her jewellery box to find pieces missing, too.

His heartbeat sped up in his chest. What the fuck?

He was a light sleeper. He should have heard her rearranging her possessions. She must have been quiet as a mouse.

He didn't overreact immediately. He just sent her a text.

_Where are you?_

He carried out his day as normal. He met some friends for lunch. He sent another.

_What’s going on?_

Had a new suit fitted. There was still no reply.

_Are you coming home tonight?_

He picked up some cocaine on his way back to his apartment.

_Cara, call me._

And a fifth after he got drunk on her vodka, just before passing out on the couch.

_Please_.

 

~~Past~~~

The party was an absolutely debauched affair. People were piled into a dilapidated but large apartment, in a building that looked like it should have been demolished years ago. There was little glamour there, with dusty floors and moth-eaten sofas that made John scrunch his nose in disgust. The music was forgettable, but liquor flowed like water and cocaine like snow.

A few people greeted Cara as they walked in. She smiled back at them like they were old friends, but he got the sense that most of the guests were strangers to each other. She ignored offers to join groups of people in dancing or talking, instead swiping a small bag of powder out of a man’s back pocket and a bottle of vodka off an end table.

She led him to a glass door and wordlessly, he followed. She tried the handle but it was locked. She fished a key out of a nearby rubber pot plant and opened it, walking out onto a small balcony.

The music spilled outside, sounding better in the mix of the sounds of the city, alongside the cars, the conversations, the footsteps from below.

“You want?” she asked with a mischievous smile as she crushed the clumps out of the powder, like she was sharing some precious secret.

“Yes."

She seemed pleased as she poured some out onto a small mirror she pulled out of her bag. He was no stranger to the substance; he’d indulged many times in his university days, so he could tell it was high quality by the way it sparkled in the light.

“So, is this your typical Wednesday night?”

“No, usually it’s heroin,” she replied with a chuckle, and he couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not. “But I prefer coke, I like to feel like god."

He laughed at the comment, but he felt his scars ache. Heard his mothers voice in his ears.  _Blasphemy is a sin._ Felt the terrible and unshakable urge to atone. He dug his nails into his palms to ease it.

She scraped the power into a line with a razor blade and he wondered if that was just something she carried around. She carefully held the mirror up to him. He pulled out money from his wallet, choosing a hundred dollar bill and rolled it up. She laughed at the sight of it, at the cliché, and he had to withhold his own laughter as he snorted the powder. She followed with her own, taking the money from him when he offered it, passing it back once she was done. He’d almost expected her to pocket it.

They shared the vodka as John rambled about himself and his past. Each time he tried to ask her something she found some new way to direct the question back to him. She listened with the curiosity of someone trying to figure out a puzzle, even though he was sure that she’d had him figured out from the moment he had approached her.

He skipped the parts about his brothers, his adoption, about the pain all of his parents had caused him. He spoke instead about his wealth, his days in university, the wild things he got up to.

“That’s when I moved to-"

She leaned in and kissed him then, mid-sentence, and his hands went to her waist, the conversation forgotten. She drew closer to him, straddling his lap as he cupped her ass and-

“Cara,” someone called from inside. “You think you can just hide away the whole night?"

“Looks like I’ve been discovered,” she told him with a smile, resting her forehead against his. “Best go in."

He managed to capture her in another brief kiss before they untangled from each other completely. He followed her back into the party, through to a more private lounge area, and he got the sense that she knew exactly who was calling her. The men seated here were dressed finer than the rest, with suits and watches not unlike his own. They reminded John of his colleagues. A man lounging in the only clean chair in this place sat up at the sight of them, lifting his arms in the air like a messiah. He was sickly pale with stringy raven hair that just dusted his jawbone.

“Cara!” he said, entirely too loudly for the small distance between them.

“Hey, Luka,” she greeted him with a coy smile.

“Been staying out of trouble?"

“Always,” she promised.

Luka let out a gruff, bellowing laugh.

John stood there, awkwardly beside her. It was an emotion he was unaccustomed to, and he didn’t like the way it felt on his skin.

“And who have you brought me?"

“Oh!” she said, like she’d forgotten about him, hand sliding over his chest. “This is John. He’s a lawyer."

He went to step forward, to shake Luka’s hand, but Cara increased her pressure on his chest, stopping him. He looked down at her in confusion but she only smiled.

“Nice to meet you."

Luka leaned forward in his chair.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine.”

He swallowed uncomfortably.

The other men in the group introduced themselves as Cara fell into the only free sofa, moving over so John could sit beside her.

She rested her hand on him, trailing her fingers up and down his thigh. It was distracting to say the least.

Luka asked a lot of questions. John was happy to answer them. The cocaine made him more self-absorbed than usual. He talked all about himself; his job, his goals, his experience at university, trying not to repeat too much of what he’d just told Cara. It was only lines and hours later that he realised he knew nothing about Luka at all.

Cara became restless beside him, bored by the conversation. When the song changed he whispered in her ear.

“Do you want to dance?"

Her grin was instant.

“Yes, let’s!” Before he could stand, she turned to Luka as if she needed permission. “We are going to dance and let you guys continue to be boring over here."

“Enjoy yourselves, kids,” Luka chuckled.

John stood and offered his hand in an exaggerated gesture. She took it and he pulled her away from the strange group and over to the stereo.

They danced together, ridiculous in their confidence, singing obnoxiously loudly along with the songs. Someone started changing it every 30 seconds or so, as if they grew bored of each melody after the first chorus, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just went with it, adapting her dancing to be wild or graceful or upbeat or sultry. He took every chance he could to touch her, to wrap his hands around her waist or to draw her ass flush against him.

As the party continued into the early hours of the morning, the crowd started to thin out.

John and Cara collapsed onto a sofa. She sprawled out on his lap, placing lazy kisses on his throat.

Luka walked passed the back of the couch, leaning down to whisper something in Cara’s ear.

“I hope you had a good time tonight, John,” he said, giving him a wide smile, resting his hand on his shoulder.

“I did,” he replied, biting back discomfort for the man.

He watched as he left the party with two women.

“Who was that guy?"

She smiled at him.

“He brings the snow."

It didn’t really answer his question, and he had many more, but he knew that would be all he got out of her for now.

“Anyone have any xann?” she asked.

Someone gave her some, and he took some too, supposing he should try to minimise the damage for the morning.

A while later she asked for weed, too, but everyone left at the party was out.

It was another perfect opportunity he had been given.

“I have some at my place,” he offered.

“You do?” she replied, pleased. “I did not take you for a smoker."

“No?"

“You seem too uptight! Though, maybe that’s why you need it."

As the words slipped off her tongue she didn’t seem to realise they could be taken to be insulting. The sweet smile on her lips and the promise of more was too great for him to lash out like he might at another woman. His expression seemed to betray a little too much, so she quickly added, hand reaching for his.

“That was rude, I’m sorry. The drink makes me too honest."

She gave an almost nervous laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear, and he went along with it.

“It’s okay."

Her face lit back up with a smile at his reply.

“Your place it is then."

She stood and grabbed him by his hands to pull him to his feet along with her. He wavered, still drunk and somewhat out of it.

“Let’s go."

She led him out of the apartment, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. The important people were already gone.

He hailed a cab and the two of them went off into the night.

~~

He took her back to his apartment. He switched on the lights and grinned at the smile that grew on her lips as she took in his home. She walked over to the window, staring out at the city while he got out his stash.

“Nice place."

“Thank you."

She strolled over to his sofa, falling back into the pillows with a soft sigh, like she owned the place. He joined her and they didn’t smoke a lot, just enough to take the edge off.

“You know,” he began, “This has to-"

She cut him off as she had done earlier, kissing him, and once again the conversation was forgotten. She went to unbutton his shirt but he stopped her, hands coming up to cover her own.

“Leave it,” he mumbled against her lips. She complied.

He reclined back into the sofa as she stood back from him. She unzipped her dress, letting it pool at her feet.

Her underwear were ridiculous in their opulence compared to her modest dress and heels. White silk, sheer where it counted, more of a cropped chemise than a bra.

And there, along the curve of her hip, in the same neat, cursive writing the small letters spelled out another of her sins.

_Lust_.

He shuddered at the sight of it, drawing his thumb across the word.

She peeled off her underwear, biting down on her bottom lip as he watched her, and climbed over him. He trailed his hand down the curve off his waist, dipping lower to caress her thighs. Under the pad of his thumb he felt the raised skin of scars.

They were old, on her thigh in neat little rows, stacked atop each other like shelves of liquor in a bar. He didn’t ask about them; he didn’t need to. He knew what they were. She captured his lips in a kiss and covered his hand with her own, dragging it up to rest on her breast instead.

There were no desperate movements, no hurry here. She was strange and soft and beautiful. He wanted to savour her.

When his hands wrapped around her back he felt other scars, not unlike his own. She was littered with them. Thin, white lines adorning her like ravines and hills in a valley. He stopped, breaking apart from her, looking into her eyes with a burning curiosity. He’d never fucked anyone who might share his pain before.

She looked back in confusion.

“What?"

Now was not the time, he knew that. He drew her in again, answering her question with a kiss.

~~

She collapsed atop him, breathing heavy. She pressed a kiss to his neck, where she could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

He traced his fingertip along one of the scars on her back.

He felt like he’d met someone who might understand at least part of his darkness, someone who’d been hurt as he was. He craved that; to be understood, to be accepted, much as he pretended otherwise. He had to confirm that she shared his pain.

“What happened to you?”

“They are old scars. There’s no sense in picking at them."

He frowned, though he understood the sentiment, and lifted her off of his lap, setting her down beside him. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, revealing a few scattered scars. She watched him with curiosity but did not question his actions.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as he turned around to show her his back. It almost mirrored hers. She ghosted her hand over one of the worst ones, only then feeling the need to confess.

“It was my parents,” she admitted, and honesty felt strange on her tongue. She wasn’t even sure why she was telling him, but something about him, whether the fact he shared her pain or his charm alone, made her feel compelled to do so. “My mother, mostly."

He waited for her to continue, to reveal more, but that was it.

“My father,” he offered in return, omitting that some were self-caused even though he knew she’d done the same, but still she said nothing more.

She only traced her index finger up one of the lines. She leant in and kissed it, lips feather-soft and reverent, and then the moment was over and she was back to herself. She drew her hand away.

“You have any food? I’m starved."

He was surprised that he wanted to know more about her, that he felt as if he had to, but he’d give her time. It had been a lot for her to say as much as she had, just as it had been for him.

“I’ll order pizza."

He called the only place open at this ridiculous hour while she rose and wandered towards his room. He followed her as she found the master bathroom, her heels, still on her feet, clinking against the tile floors. Even though he’d just felt her back under his fingertips it was another thing to see it. To see what had been done to her. She was beautiful, undoubtedly so, but the sight of those wounds made his chest ache. Was this how the few that had seen his scars saw him? Was this why their lust had often turned to pity?

She switched on the shower and took off her shoes, stepping under the stream of water. She gave him a look that said aren’t you going to join me?

And so he did, stepping under the water. Only, it wasn’t warm like he expected. It was fucking freezing.

He recoiled back, adjusting it to hot.

“What the fuck?"

She only laughed.

“I always have cold showers."

They took turns washing each other, lathering soap and rinsing off the days sweat and grime. She was considerably dirtier than he. It felt almost holy to him, like they were cleansing each other of their sins.

They retired to the bed, lounging around on his silk sheets, her wet hair soaking his pillow.

There was a knock at the door and she rose quickly, swiping his wallet off of the end table, not bothering to put on any clothes.

“Cara?” he called after her, "The fuck?"

She paid the poor pizza delivery guy, who stammered his way through the ordeal, face flushed with embarrassment.

She returned to bed with the box, not wasting any time in digging in.

He just looked on, stunned.

“Don’t you want any?”

A slow grin creeped onto his lips as he joined her, sharing the pizza.

The lure of sleep started to set in once they had eaten their fill, the pizza box discarded on the floor. He had to be up for work in only a few hours, a fact he was painfully aware of.

He felt the mattress shift as she sat down on the side of his bed, putting on her shoes.

He didn’t ask her to stay. He knew what her answer would be. He usually kicked girls out by now, long before now, if he was honest.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

“Maybe, if you’re just so unlucky."

“Unlucky?"

“I’ll break your heart,” she promised.

He chuckled.

“Nobody breaks my heart."

“Careful,” she warned, a teasing smile on her lips but her eyes were dark. "You make that sound like a challenge."


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooft this was a pain to edit. concise? never heard that word before. not every chapter will be this long, don’t worry 
> 
> warnings for drug use & sexual content

He waited three days before seeking her out. Every time he’d tried to call her it had gone to voicemail, the generic message mocking him. She’d never customised it.

_Cara, it’s me. Please return my calls. I’m worried about you._

His pleas were met with silence. This wasn’t exactly surprising; she often didn’t respond to messages for days. He had to remind her to bring her phone with her or charge it more times than he could count, and she’d managed to break and lose it unreasonably often. But this time felt different. While she’d left many times before she’d never taken so many of her things with her. It was the missing jewels that scared him the most. Travelling with thousands of dollars of diamonds and pearls in your pocket wasn’t exactly safe.

He had a sinking feeling something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure if that was just his guilt. It was difficult to concentrate on work, on meetings, on anything but her absence. He didn’t like being without her, didn’t like to wake up to an empty bed, to not know whether she was safe- but that was just part of being with her. If he stifled her she’d only disappear for longer. She could walk back in at any moment, or he could never see her again, and the lack of knowing terrified him.

But after three days of silence he had enough waiting around. He tried to call Luka. It’d been a while since he’d spoken to the man, but if anyone knew where she was, it would be him. There was no answer.

_It’s Luka. You know what to do._

He cleared his throat, waiting for the dial tone.

_Hi, it’s John. Cara’s gone missing. I just want to talk. Call me back when you get this._

The bar where he met her was his next thought. It was a Wednesday. She didn’t exactly have a schedule, but that was the day she typically sang there. He dialled the number, but it had been disconnected. He swore, throwing his phone across the room.

He cursed again when he picked it up and saw a crack across the screen.

He’d have to make the trip to Atlanta. He went back often on business; it was less than a two hour drive, but it was an annoyance nonetheless.

He gathered his things and left for his car. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as he sat through the evening traffic. He made it there eventually, only resisting the urge to kill a few idiot drivers during the journey. Cara always laughed at the way he’d swear at them. He pulled up outside the bar, his pristine car standing out against the run-down streets.

The place was thankfully open despite the disconnected number. He walked inside, past a couple smoking near the doors, and approached the bar. He looked around the room for any sign of her but there was none, only the typical crowd of people. It angered him to see them drinking and revelling, when his girl was missing. _How dare they?_ he thought, and he knew it was an irrational reaction, but it was one he couldn’t control. He dug his nails into his palms, relieving his tension.

The bartender recognised him. After all the times he’d been there he still couldn’t remember her name. She was the same one who’d been working the night he first met Cara.

“John, it’s been a while,” she said with a tired smile, pouring him a shot of vodka. "Is Cara with you? She’s supposed to be singing tonight."

He felt disappointment settle in his chest. He was hoping it would be so easy, even though he knew he was foolish to. This was Cara he was talking about. She liked things to be difficult.

“No. That’s why I’m here. I’ve been looking for her."

The woman frowned, passing the shot to him. Wordlessly, he downed it. He didn’t even flinch at its burn.

“She’s missing?"

“Yes. Haven’t heard from her in three days."

He was embarrassed to admit this aloud. He was her man. She shouldn’t treat him as something she could just walk out on. A more reasonable part of himself reminded him that that was exactly how he had treated her the other night. He pushed down the guilt that threatened to rise up his throat like bile.

“Huh, guess she’s finally moved on."

He found her nonchalance offensive. She should have been worried about Cara, yet she spoke with less concern than one would have for a misplaced sweater.

“What?"

She gave a sympathetic smile, but he read it as pity. He grit his teeth.

“She always warned us she was going to. Wish she’d given us some notice, though. Luckily, we have someone on standby."

Cara wasn’t someone who could just be replaced. It was insulting to think she could.

“She wouldn’t just leave."

“Are we talking about the same girl? She barely showed up as it was."

John seethed at her words. Just as he was about to lash out at the woman a man shouted beside him, breaking his concentration.

“Hey! Talk some other time. We’re trying to order a fucking drink, woman."

She shot him an apologetic look, moving on to serve the others.

He felt wrath boil within him at the man’s rudeness, but for once he let it go. He didn’t have time for this. Instead John just left, stepping back outside into the night. He tried to call Luka again but was met with his voicemail.

He heard puffing behind him, signalling someone was running to catch up to him. He turned to see Alex, Cara's guitarist. John knew little about the man for the amount of times he’d seen him. Cara would practice with him in the empty bar every now and again, and John would often watch, enjoying seeing her laugh at her mistakes. The bar was different then, with her voice echoing in the quiet, sunshine filtering through the windows, dust catching the light like snow.

“Do you know where Cara is?” the man asked John.

He put his phone away in his back pocket, shaking his head.

“No."

The word felt like an admission of failure.

“She’s not been answering my texts, even more than usual."

John wondered if he had anything of value to tell him, or if he’d just ran up to him to waste his time.

“Mine, either."

Alex shifted his weight between his feet and John realised he was nervous. He was probably on something, and that was no doubt Cara’s influence. She liked people better when they were high, a fact she’d told him several times in the midst of arguments.

“Maybe she’s gone back to wherever she’s from."

He was surprised he hadn’t considered the possibility over the past few days, given how much time he’d spent thinking about her. He’d long suspected she wasn’t from the country or continent, but she’d never confirmed where she was from.

“Perhaps,” he replied simply, lost in his thoughts.

“She isn’t American, is she?” Alex didn’t give him time to respond, immediately continuing to speak. “I always thought she was from France, but Maci said she’s been to France and that ain’t what French people are like-"

“Maci?"

Alex looked at him in confusion.

“The bartender?"

He should have felt embarrassed, but he didn’t. He didn’t care enough about them to.

“Oh, yes, of course."

“Anyway, Maci reckons she’s from somewhere cold, like Norway-"

John sensed if he didn’t cut him off now, he’d keep talking the whole night.

“I’ve got to get going, Alex."

It intrigued him to see that Cara had left a mark on him, stirred curiosity in someone but himself. The bartender hadn’t seemed so interested inside, but Alex undoubtedly was. He wondered what other strange theories they had. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to get any closer to finding her by talking to him. He was just wasting time, and he knew that with each passing hour she slipped further out of his grasp.

Alex seemed more confused than irritated at his interruption.

“Well, if you see her, tell her to get back to me."

“Likewise."

John waved him off, walking back to his car and getting behind the wheel.

He sat in indecision, wondering what to do next. It seemed early to go to the police. He wanted to be sure she wasn’t just around the corner first, that she wouldn’t just stroll up to their home, angry at him for making a fuss. She never liked involving authorities of any sort in her business. He decided to try the warehouse where she’d brought him to that first party. They had gone back several times, but not in a while. Not since Luka had scared them so much that they’d left Atlanta for Rome.

The drive was short, the place being only a few blocks away, but when he approached he did a double take. Where it once stood was nothing but rubble. His heart dropped in his chest. It’d finally been knocked down. It should've been long ago; the place was starting to get dangerous with its broken glass and caving ceilings, but the timing was unsettling.

His next stop seemed obvious; Luka’s favourite club. He’d been there with the pair of them and a revolving door of guests more times than he could count. He drove over, reaching into the glove box for a cigarette. He feared it, too, would be gone, even though the thought was ridiculous.

The place was bustling, the line reaching around the block. He found a park nearby and strolled up to the door, the bouncer recognising him and welcoming him on sight. He tossed the cigarette on the pavement and smirked at the dirty looks the people in line gave him. He asked the manager about Cara, but he said he hadn’t seen her. That she hadn’t been there without him in weeks. He asked about Luka next and was met with a sour look. He said Luka wasn’t welcome anymore. That he’d had a disagreement a week before and hadn’t been back since. He pressed further, and the manager relented, as people always did around John. He said Luka had pulled a gun on another attendee and shot him in the thigh. The action had lost him business, tarnished a reputation that Luka was unwilling to help resolve. But if the line outside was any indication, the reputation wasn’t _that_ damaged.

Another dead end left John feeling like a failure. He needed to do something, but wasn’t sure what he could do save for involving the authorities. He worried Luka had taken her from him, whether as a companion or with death, and his heart pounded in his chest at the thought. He would give them a few more days to get back to him, and then he would call the police. He knew that finding Luka would help him find Cara.

~~Past~~~  
His alarm blared like a siren the next morning. He groaned as he batted his arm, blindly looking for the switch. The silence tempted him to surrender to sleep once more, but he rose with a groan, coffee and aspirin his only saviours. He went to work despite his fatigue and pounding headache, doing his best to look well presented. He told his colleagues he was coming down with a cold. The receptionist was the only one who seemed to realise the real reason for him being under the weather, poorly hiding her knowing smirk as she greeted him. It was a battle to keep his eyes open during meetings, but he was good at pretending to be okay. He could feign composure with anyone.

His thoughts kept drifting back to her. How she’d felt on top of him, the sounds she’d made, sure, but it was more than that. The scars on her back and the sins on her skin interested him far more than her sexual prowess. He was eager to see her again. He wanted to know all of her secrets, to unravel her like a ball of yarn.

He went to sleep the earliest he had in months that night, absolutely shattered from the party the night before. The next day he called the bar in advance to ask when she’d be playing again. They told him that evening, and thank god it was a Friday because he didn’t think he could handle another hungover workday like the last.

If yesterday he was distracted, Friday was much worse. He counted down the hours until nightfall like a highschooler awaiting their first date. He mentally planned out what he would wear, what he would say to her. He wanted to impress her.

He waved off his colleagues offers to join them for drinks with an apologetic smile, telling them he was still feeling ill.

He caught a cab to the bar, adjusting his suit jacket before he stepped out of the vehicle. People trickled out of the place like an overflowing sink, spilling onto the sidewalk.

He entered the bar, much busier than it was two nights before, but managed to find one empty table. The same one as last time. She didn’t notice him at first. He caught sight of her the second she walked in through the side door, watched as she greeted the bartender and walked onto the stage. It was only when she started to sing that her eyes met his. She returned the smile he gave her, but she looked a little weary, like she was disappointed in him for seeking her out.

He listened to her set. She’d changed it since last time. It was as if she was deciding what song to sing on the spot, even though he knew that it had to be planned with the guitarist. She entertained the crowd, giving each person a smile like she was there for them and only them, and it was a trick he knew intimately. Yet, every time her eyes drifted to his and she gave him that same smile he felt an unfamiliar warmth spread within him. He was fooled by his own ruse. He could have laughed at the thought alone.

Once her set was done she walked to the bar as she had two nights before. He did the same, sliding beside her before anyone else could. She gave him a warm smile.

“Hi, John."

He leaned against the counter.

“Hey, Cara."

The bartender passed her a shot.

“I’ll have one of those too, thanks,” he said, passing his credit card to the woman.

Cara lifted a languid hand to his jacket, fiddling with the lapels.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” she said, her eyes drifting up towards his, "I knew you would, though."

“Your card, sir," the bartender interrupted, waiting with it outstretched in her hand. He took it from her, and the shot, thanking her with a flash of a smile.

They downed the shots together, slamming them back onto the countertop. It was vodka. Cara didn’t even flinch. His nose scrunched up in disgust and she laughed at him.

“Don’t mock me,” he said, laughing back despite himself.

“I’m only teasing."

He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?"

She looked up at him with a sly grin.

“Yes, actually. Would you like to join me?"

His smile was instant.

“Yes."

“Let’s not waste time then."

She slid her hand into his and led him outside through the side door. They walked down the street, stopping at the storefront where she’d first kissed him. She looked down the road, scanning for a particular vehicle.

“He’ll be here any minute."

“Who?"

Her attention went back to him, satisfied that they weren’t waiting for her.

“Luka."

“Are you taking me to another party?"

Her hands found the lapels of his suit again and she pulled him closer.

“Mhm, something like that."

He kissed her this time, pressing her gently against the storefront window.

A car pulled up, coming to a stop with a loud screech. John pulled back from her to follow the direction of the noise.

The tinted-window of the passenger seat rolled down. Luka beamed at them.

“Cara! John!” he called their names with a smile, like they were old friends. "Get in."

A man opened the back door, shuffling over to make room for them. John recognised him from the party but couldn’t remember his name. The driver looked familiar, too.

Cara climbed in first, sitting in the middle and John joined her. Luka turned around to face them, his seatbelt unbuckled.

“How are we feeling?"

Both the wording of the question and the intense smile that accompanied it struck him as unusual. If Cara agreed she gave no indication she thought so, her response rolling off her tongue.

“Peachy."

“And you, John?"

“I’m good."

“Good! Great!”

His strange energy confused him until he realised what he should have immediately known. Luka was high on something. Probably, a cocktail of somethings.

He turned around, digging through a bag in front of him, and passed Cara a dress, much nicer than the casual one she wore.

“Change."

She pulled her clothes off over her heard, undisturbed by the eyes of those in the car. John was surprised by her lack of modesty. She hadn’t exactly come across as shy, but to strip in front of four men took a certain kind of boldness he wasn’t sure he liked. Especially since Luka watched her shamelessly.

She wrangled herself into the dress in the tight space of the car. It was short and navy blue, adorned with sequins so it glimmered in the light.

“Zip me up?” she asked John and he did so, fingers brushing against one of the raised scars that intersected her spine.

They pulled up at a club. It was a high-end establishment, three stories high with a rooftop pool. He’d been there before, with some of his colleagues.

He held his hand out to her as she climbed out of the car, closing the door behind them. She pulled down the back of her skirt so she wasn’t exposed and he wrapped his arm around her waist.

The line at the place wrapped around the block, but Luka walked straight to the front. They followed, being welcomed in, much to the crowds displeasure.

The manager greeted them, talking to Luka as he led them to the VIP area. He let out an exaggerated sigh as he sat down on a velvet lounge. John joined Cara on an adjacent one.

A girl in a tight red dress brought out a tray of champagne and glasses, pouring one for each of them. Luka spoke to her with a dangerous smile and she giggled under his attention. He was a fairly attractive man in spite of his pallid complexion, and the girl could no doubt smell his wealth like a bloodhound. She wrote down her number before she left, Luka slapping her ass as she walked away.

John had enjoyed the perks of wealth for years now; in childhood with his adopted family, in university with his trust fund and with his new income as a lawyer. But this was different. This was power. Excess. Gluttony. Like nothing he’d ever seen.

Now that he’d tasted it he wanted more. He craved someone to look at him the way the manager did Luka, the way his men did. To obey him as Cara had in the car, to do whatever he asked like it was nothing.

“You must have had an interesting day at the office yesterday."

Luka’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. The others looked at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry?"

“I can’t imagine your hangover was pleasant."

“Oh- yeah, it wasn’t great,” he laughed. “I told everyone I was getting a cold."

Luka smirked, leaning forward in his seat, clasping his hands together as if in prayer, “And they believed you?"

“Yes. Everyone except our receptionist did, but the woman comes in hungover so often it’s like she spends more time drunk than sober."

He laughed like it was hilarious, pouring himself a second glass of champagne.

“Y’know, I like you, John.” He turned to Cara. “You made a good choice with this one."

_What was that supposed to mean?_

The reply slipped off her tongue effortlessly, “I always do."

He laughed again, tipping his head back. John wasn’t sure what Luka was on, but he wanted some of it. His driver leaned over to him, speaking in low tones, and all of his amusement dissipated.

“Cara, my guests will be here soon. Why don’t you show John the dance floor?"

“Of course."

She stood immediately, not even taking the time to finish her drink, and led him back downstairs to where the public danced.

“I like more people,” she practically yelled over the music, walking over to one of the bars, "It’s like being a part of them, you know."

He tried to comment on her strange phrasing, but his attempts as speech were drowned out as they passed by a speaker.

She ordered them a few rounds of shots, standing close to him so they could hear each other.

“Someone really likes vodka."

She shrugged, “I prefer wine, but there is a time and place for everything."

Once her head was spinning and she was full of warmth she grabbed his hands in her own.

“Dance with me?"

She didn’t need to ask him twice. He led her onto the dance floor, finding a spot in the heart of the crowd. He was mesmerised by the way the strobe lights danced over her skin in a kaleidoscope of colours. Intoxicated by her and the liquor.

Some promoter came around with a camera and she hid her face in his neck while he smiled straight at him. It was strange; she wasn’t exactly shy. An insecure part of him, one that lingered from his childhood, hoped it wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him. Not that he could think of any reason why. He wanted to ask her, but the music was so loud voices could barely be heard over it, and he wasn’t sure he’d like her answer.

The song changed and she made a face. She clearly didn’t like it, even though it was pretty much indistinguishable from the rest. She leaned up to his ear, her breath hot against his skin.

“Do you want to go for a smoke?"

“Yes."

She led him outside and they lingered in an alleyway. She pulled cigarettes and a lighter out of the bag on her wrist. He held the cigarette up to his lips as she lit it, cupping her hands around it so it took. He gave a few draws as she lit hers, watching the smoke billow into the night air.

“Are you sleeping with Luka?” he asked, because he had to know.

She laughed like she’d been waiting for him to ask.

“No, not anymore. Briefly, a long time ago."

“He wants you."

She turned to him, surprised by his boldness. She threaded her hands around his neck, careful not to burn him with her cigarette.

“Hmm, he wants a lot of things."

He grinned, his free hand going to her waist.

“And what do you want?"

“I think you know,” she chuckled, leaning in to kiss him.

She pulled back for another smoke and his grip on her tightened.

“I’m not sure I do, you might have to show me."

“What, right here?” she laughed, “You dirty man."

He took another drag, blowing out softly as she inhaled the smoke from him.

“I can’t help myself. You look positively sinful in this little thing.”

He tugged at her dress just as a group of other people shuffled into the alley. She pulled away from him and he released her with reluctance.

“You’ll just have to wait for it."

“That better be a promise."

She gave him a smile that he took as a yes.

They finished their cigarettes and stumbled back inside, the alcohol catching up to them. Cara skipped ahead, taking three steps at a time, as they went back to the VIP area. They caught the tail end of a conversation.

“-but that’s only once we’ve expanded west, of course,” Luka said, his demeanour changing from serious to amused as he noticed them. “Cara! John! You two enjoying yourselves?"

“Sorry to interrupt,” Cara blurted out and he could tell that she was nervous.

“Nonsense!” Luka said with a wide smile that didn’t ease her tension beside him. "We were just finishing up."

John went to speak, but Luka continued.

“Cara, come here."

She gave John a look that said _wait here_ and did as Luka commanded her to. Like a dog returning to his master.

“Cara, this is Richard.”

He was much older than both her and Luka. He was a business type, maybe forty-five years old, dressed in a suit even nicer than Johns.

“You’re going to be seeing him around, so I figured I might as well introduce you to him now."

He recognised the way her posture tensed further as restrained anger, but she gave Richard a pleasant smile and shook his hand. His touch lingered a little too long. He said something to her, quietly, and John couldn’t hear over the music. He left then, biding farewell to Luka and eyeing John with displeasure.

Cara gave Luka a furious glare but he only laughed. He wondered what had upset her so and why Luka was intentionally aggravating her. She let out a short breath and turned back to John, giving him a smile like the one she’d given the man.

“Come, sit with me."

He joined her on one of the sofas. She was still pissed at Luka and the energy of the night seemed ruined until he offered her a line of cocaine. She gave him a reluctant smile, rolling her eyes as she took it from him. John followed after her.

They stayed until the early hours of the morning, just before the music stopped and the lights went on. Just before the spell of the night was over.

Cara clung onto him as they stumbled out of the bar.

“Come back to my place,” he said, punctuating his words with kisses to her neck.

“Only because you’re so eager,” she joked, tightening her grip on his shirt.

“Cara,” Luka called, lighting a cigarette. “Aren’t you forgetting something?"

“Huh?"

“My dress."

Her face fell as she released her hold on his shirt.

“Oh- wait here a minute, John."

She walked off to Luka’s car, going to change back into her clothing. The man strolled up to him, regarding him with a look that was devoid of most of his earlier warmth.

“You aren’t going to let her wear the clothes home?"

“They aren’t hers. Things that are borrowed should be returned.” He took a long drag of his cigarette and laughed at something unknown to John, the sound unsettling. “I’m going to want to discuss some things with you soon."

“Like what?"

“Think I could have use for a lawyer. Especially one who graduated top of their class."

He swallowed. How could he know that about him? He didn’t remember bragging about it the other night. He wasn’t _that_ full of pride. Perhaps Luka had looked into him. He worried what other things he knew.

It was a show of power, and even though he hadn’t been threatened or blackmailed, it made him uncomfortable. He was the one who knew peoples secrets, not the other way around. Still, doing business with someone like Luka could be good for him, as long as he was careful. He would have to find out exactly what it would entail and he had a feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t legal.

“I’d be happy to do business with you, Luka."

He grinned, about to respond when Cara reappeared in her own clothing, looking between them with a worried smile.

“Have fun kids,” he said instead, patting John on the back a little too hard as he stalked back to his car.

~

They managed to reach his bed this time. He unbuttoned his shirt and bit back nerves as he peeled it off, uncomfortable without it. He pulled off her heels, letting them clatter onto the ground. Where the other night was soft and slow, this was all hard edges and heavy breaths.

He rolled off of her once he was spent and she gave him a messy kiss before padding off to the bathroom to clean herself up.

Her absence gave him an opportunity he hadn’t before. He walked over to her bag where she’d left it on the dresser. He unzipped it, keeping an ear out for the sound of her finishing up so she wouldn’t walk in on him snooping.

He found no passport, no ID, no papers. There were only a few things in the bag. A lighter, one remaining cigarette, a roll of hundreds and the smallest revolver he’d ever seen. He looked at in shock.

Guns were commonplace in Georgia, so his surprise was perhaps unwarranted. It wasn’t the fact that she owned a gun that confused him: it was that she had been toting it around in the bag tied to her wrist the entire time. He wiped his fingerprints off of it and carefully placed it back inside, along with her other items.

He barely made it back to his bed as she stepped out of the bathroom. He watched as she walked towards where he’d tossed her clothes, willing his heartbeat to slow back down to a reasonable pace.

“What?” she asked, suspicious of his silence.

“You’re gorgeous."

It was true, but he didn’t say the words to compliment her. They were a distraction.

She smiled, picking up her clothes.

“And so are you, staring at me with those pretty eyes."

He watched as she bent over to step into her underwear, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Don’t put them on yet."

She chuckled at the huskiness of his voice, turning to face him.

“I just got clean."

“I don’t care."

She dropped her clothes, joining him on the bed once more. He reached for her, but instead of straddling his waist she climbed further, until she was above his mouth. He chuckled at her boldness, deciding to indulge her. He gripped her thighs so hard there were sure to be bruises tomorrow. One of her hands held the headboard for support as the other tangled through his hair. He lapped at her like she was honey until she came apart at his tongue.

When she couldn't take it anymore she moaned loudly, pushing herself off of him, but he didn't release her.

“John,” she breathed, “It’s too much."

He relented, letting her slide down his body until her heat sat above him. He flipped her over and placed bruising kisses at her throat as he eased into her. He got carried away in his thrusts, his eyes closing as his hand reached for her throat. He held tightly, much too tightly, and didn't release her until she was writhing underneath him, clawing at his hand. He looked down, shocked at himself, pulling back from her.

“Cara- I-I’m sorry, I-"

She interrupted his stuttering apology with hoarse laughter, tipping her head back into the pillow, and he saw himself in her mirth. He remembered being thrown onto the kitchen floor, pain flooding his senses until he was consumed by it, his own laughter ringing in his ears as he looked up at his parents.

“It’s okay, John,” she said in between gasping breaths, her voice raspy. “It’s good. Pain can be good.” She reached up to caress his cheek, “But I think you already know that.” She bit down on her bottom lip and there was something distinct in her eyes; pride. “I knew I was right about you.”

Girls had been scared of him before. When he’d let them get too close to seeing him. When his hand would wrap around their throats, when he'd leave bruises on their hips, when he'd bite at their necks until he drew blood. Why wasn’t she?

“What-"

She didn't let him finish, her hand trailing down his neck and wrapping around his throat, squeezing.

“Let me show you."

She hooked her leg around his waist and flipped him over so she was on top once more.

He didn't know yet. Didn't understand how good it could feel to be so close to death you could taste it, only for life to come crashing back in. How the energy would run through his veins like coke and how he’d never feel more alive.

But part of him had always known how much better it would feel to do the same to others. To hold their life in his hands. To have them seconds from oblivion. To share in gods power.

She lowered herself down on him and wrapped her hands tight around his throat. His eyes widened, his hand reaching to cover hers, self-preservation kicking in.

“Shhh, relax. It will feel good, I promise."

He listened to her, letting his hands settle at her hips as she rocked into him. She tightened her grip as his vision started to fade at the edges. Just when he started to struggle, when he dug his nails into her hips, when he felt as if all the air in his lungs had left him, she released him and he came, gasping for breath. She was right, it did feel good. Better than good. Being on the edge made everything more intense.

“Cara, that was-"

She smiled down at him.

“I know."

She climbed off of him and he caught her before she could move away, drawing her in for a kiss so she could taste herself on his lips.

“I’m glad you know how to use that mouth for something other than talking."

He laughed, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met. A rare flower he’d plucked from a filthy bar, of all places. He wondered how many other jewels were hiding in run-down neighbourhoods.

“I should get going,” she said, rising from the bed. “Do you have any xann?"

“No."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You are not going to have a good time tomorrow, then."

She retrieved her shoes before her clothes, sitting on the side of the bed to put them on.

“Cara,” he started, tracing his finger over one of the scars on her back.

“Yes?"

He wasn't sure of the best way to ask, so he decided to do so bluntly.

“Are you a whore?”

She laughed like she had expected the question.

“No, John, I am not a whore."

Part of him was glad to hear the words, even though they confused him. He didn’t like to share, despite never limiting himself to one lover.

“Then why does Luka treat you like that?"

She tensed under his touch.

“Like what?"

The words came out slow, like she was trying to warn him not to continue his line of questioning. He was undeterred.

“Like he owns you."

She considered her answer.

“I owe him. An old debt, of sorts. He helped me out a long time ago. But it isn’t bad, he is like a brother to me."

He didn’t say that that wasn’t how siblings should treat each other. That siblings certainly didn’t fuck each other. Instead, he changed the subject, knowing pressing her too far for answers would be counterproductive.

“When can I see you again?"

“I’ll be singing next Wednesday, if I’m still around."

She’d said she was leaving soon. He hadn’t really believed her, though he had no reason not to. He wondered if she’d bring him to another of her parties. He wanted to see her without Luka. He didn’t like the way she obeyed him, even if he craved the same devotion.

“I want to take you out to dinner."

She paused, giving him a quizzical look.

“Yeah?"

“Yes. On a proper date. Tomorrow night."

“I can’t do Saturdays. I have church in the morning."

He was so shocked by the words that he wasn’t sure he'd heard her right. The time he’d spent with her had been full of sin. Pride, gluttony, greed; not to mention lust.

“Is that a joke?"

“What?” she asked, feigning confusion, but her eyes were teasing.

“You’re religious?"

“This surprises you? I have my sins tattooed onto my skin."

“You don’t act religious."

She gave him a sly smile, fingertips brushing against his thigh.

“There are lots of ways to worship."

He remembered kneeling until his knees were bruised, saying prayers over and over until his throat ached, whipping himself to atone. None of the ways he had known had involved anything that her smile suggested.

He took her hand in his own, tracing the word written there. He needed to shift the conversation; it was too close, just a little too close to dangerous territory.

“You know, you don’t strike me as being particularly full of wrath."

“I was once,” she told him, and she was as far away as he had been a moment before.

“But not anymore?"

“No. Not at the moment, anyway."

He smiled, amused.

“You think that’s going to change?"

“I don’t know. It could. It has before."

Another tease of her past, a whisper of it. She hadn't given him much more than that.

“It’s brave of you, to have them there. To wear them so openly."

“You think so?"

“Yes."

She looked like she was going to say something else, to reveal something further, but thought better of it. Instead, she leaned down and kissed him, and he knew it was supposed to be a distraction. A request to change the subject.

“How about Monday evening?"

“Don’t you have work the next morning?"

“Yes, but that didn’t stop me last week. Can't imagine we’ll be doing as much cocaine, either."

She laughed.

“Okay, but you’re going to have to buy me a dress to wear, and shoes.” At the look on his face, she added, “What? You’re going to take me somewhere nice, yes? I want to match your suit."

Her demands amused him, but he was willing to fulfil them.

“Sure. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up."

“I’ll meet you here."

He wondered why she was unwilling to tell him. Did she feel unsafe with him knowing? Or was she embarrassed about her place? If the hundreds in her bag were any indication, she wasn’t exactly struggling for cash.

“But then I can’t get you flowers,” he teased as she stood to collect her clothing.

“A dress and shoes are better than flowers. "

He couldn’t argue with that.

Once she’d changed, he walked her to the door, leaning against the frame.

“Can I call you a cab?"

She shook her head.

“I’m fine."

He kissed her goodbye, his hand lingering on her cheek.

“I’ll see you on Monday. Let’s say at seven?"

“Sure. I’m a size six and a half in shoes, by the way."

He chuckled, letting his hand fall to his side.

“I’m glad you told me.”

“I had fun with you tonight, John,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He turned his head so it caught his lips instead, and he felt her smile against him.

He closed the door behind her as she left, already mentally planning what he’d wear for their date.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey :))  
> some things in the beginning of this chapter don’t match up with Cara’s current appearance, but that’s intentional.  
> The next chapter will be (either the only one, or one of few) from Cara’s point of view.  
> thanks for the kudos and comments lmao
> 
> Also no content warnings for this chapter (for once) :)

The weekend was painful. Without work to distract him, time passed at a crawl and he couldn’t help but notice her absence. It was difficult to keep her disappearance to himself, the weight of it pressing on him heavier and heavier with each day.

At night he fell into his bed, drunk and alone, and was overwhelmed with her scent in his sheets. He’d been delaying washing them, just so she could linger for longer.

On Monday morning he decided he would go to the police. John knew he shouldn’t report Luka as missing. The man would be furious at him for doing so, and his wrath was not to be taken likely.

He knew the things he needed to bring. ID or papers, neither of which he had. Photos he could provide. He scrolled through his phone and his camera, to look for photos to print, but all of them were gone. His heart sped up in his chest.

_What the fuck?_

He hadn’t looked before, not wanting to face her. She’d deleted them. That was the only explanation that made sense. Why had she gone to such lengths to erase herself?

He drove to the station, having taken the morning off. A detective led him to a desk and he sat beside him and a stack of papers.

He was a clean-cut man, in his mid-thirties, with tired eyes.

“You’d like to file a missing persons report?"

It was a position he’d never imagined he’d be in, and he was almost mad at Cara for making it so. For making him sit here on a plastic chair, in his expensive suit, surrounded by all sorts of delinquents and lowlifes.

“Yes."

His pen hovered over the form.

“What’s their name?"

“Cara Winters."

He paused his writing, looking up at him.

“Is that an alias?"

He thought for a moment. She’d never said as much, but he wouldn’t be surprised. Still, he couldn’t imagine her wearing another name. Cara, _dear_ in Italian as she’d once told him, suited her so well, rolled off his tongue so lavishly. If that was a lie, how much else had been? The idea that he, practically a master at reading people, could have been lied to about something as basic as a name was infuriating.

“It could be,” he replied.

The detective nodded, looking back at the paper.

“It sounds like one. How old is she?"

“Twenty-three,” he guessed. He wouldn’t admit he wasn’t sure.

“And she’s your girlfriend? Sister?"

“Girlfriend,” he confirmed.

“Could you describe the circumstances of her disappearance?"

“When I woke up a week ago she was gone. Along with her jewellery and most of her clothes."

The detectives brows furrowed as he lowered his pen, giving him a suspicious look.

“Why have you waited a week before filing a report?"

He was expecting that question. He knew how it looked, knew that it made him seem disingenuous. Like he was hiding things. Why would a worried boyfriend wait an entire week?

He had to be careful about what he revealed. Being honest about her behaviour and the drugs might not help her case, but he had to be truthful where possible. The further he got from the truth, the more difficult it would be to find her. And drawing suspicion to himself wouldn’t help, either.

“She’s very independent. She often likes to stay with friends, sometimes for days at a time."

The man processed the information. John didn't miss the way his expression eased a little, the suspicion not gone but lessened.

“It wasn’t unusual for her to not contact you?"

“For a day or so, yes. But she never took so many of her things with her, especially not her jewellery."

He could see the gears turning in the mans head, a spark in his eye. He had an idea.

“Do you think she took the jewellery to sell?"

He had considered the possibility, though it angered him. If she needed money, she could have asked. Each of those pieces were chosen for her. They meant something. The idea of her just throwing that away for _money_ sickened him.

“Perhaps."

“What is her line of work?"

“She’s a singer, at a bar in Atlanta. She didn’t show up to her shifts last Wednesday or Friday."

He gave the details of the bar she worked at, as well as the manager and her guitarist’s numbers.

"Could you describe her appearance for me?"

"She has tattoos on the sides of her hands that say ‘Wrath’ and ‘Pride’. She has long, red hair, brown eyes, she’s slim…"

He trailed off, not knowing how to capture her in words. Listing off her features felt almost clinical on his tongue. Like a disservice to her.

“Any other distinguishing marks? Other tattoos, scars?"

He wouldn’t mention the word lust. Or the self-harm scars.

“She has a heart tattooed on her index finger,” he started, holding his own hand up to show his matching one, “-like this, and a snowflake on her wrist and a feather on the back of her shoulder.” He wasn’t sure how detailed to be about her other scars, but he figured the more information, the better. “She has a scar on her left temple. A small, horizontal line. She has others on her legs and arms, from a road accident, but they’re not as noticeable. And she has many on her back."

“Could you describe them? The scars on her back."

His breath faltered. They were a private thing, a secret shared between her and him. To speak of them to a stranger felt sacrilegious. Acknowledging them at all was was reliving not only her pain, but his too. His own scars ached, under his tailored suit and his composure.

“Lines on her back, some vertical, some diagonal. From childhood abuse."

The detective nodded, writing down the details like they were items from a grocery list.

“How tall is she?"

“Shorter than average. 5’3, maybe?"

“And her weight?"

“About 100 pounds."

She was always slim, thinner than she should be. He knew it was mostly from the drugs. She always ate well when she was with him, but he couldn’t say what she did when she was not. She’d gained a few pounds since they had moved away from Luka, softened her sharp angles a little, but could stand to gain more. He wanted her healthy.

“Do you have any pictures of her with you?"

He was dreading this question. He knew it would come up eventually, but his answer would not help Cara’s case. It would make her look like a runaway, which she likely was, but what choice did he have but to be honest? What other explanation could he offer? If he lied and said they’d never taken any, it would only make him look more suspicious.

No,” he answered with a sigh. "She deleted them."

The detective paused his writing, looking up at him in confusion.

“Why would she do that?"

John shifted in the plastic chair.

“I don’t know."

He narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t think of a single reason?"

“No,” he lied. The man believed him, shaking his head in a way that was irritatingly close to pity.

“What was she wearing when you last saw her?"

He paused, almost embarrassed. He was usually quite shameless, Cara had made him so, but in the cold police station it felt strange to admit. But, if it helped finding her...

“Uh, nothing?"

The cops lips twitched, the hint of a smirk breaching their professionalism.

“What possessions might she be carrying?"

He didn’t mention the gun.

“I’m not sure. A small bag, perhaps. With cash inside. She doesn’t carry ID or cards."

“Why not?"

He shrugged, felling embarrassed.

“I don’t know."

He was starting to sound like a broken record.

He asked about allergies, medical conditions, mental health issues. He didn’t mention how erratic she acted. Her delusions. All the drugs she took. The alcohol she drank. A therapist would have a field day with her.

He asked about friends, too, and relatives. He didn’t mention her parents, lying that she’d never mentioned them. He gave her the names and contact information of some of the people she most commonly associated with. He didn’t give Luka’s name or phone number. The idea of giving a police officer Luka’s number was laughable. The man would probably try to kill him for it.

By the time they were done, the officer was exasperated with him.

“We’ll do our best, Mr Duncan, but this isn’t a lot to go off of. Given the deleted photos, the jewellery, and her past of disappearing…"

That was not what John wanted to hear.

“I understand that you must be very busy,” he began, reaching into his pocket. “It’s a very noble field, being a cop. I appreciate what you do, really, I do. Perhaps I have something that could help… motivate you to increase your efforts on this case."

“Like what?” the man asked, but something in his eyes told him John was expecting it.

He handed the man an envelope. He’d come prepared. He knew what cops were like.

Corruption was everywhere. John had learned that during his time at work and with Cara. He hated it, _loathed it,_ but it didn’t stop him using it to his advantage where he could.

~~Past~~  
John was almost surprised when Cara turned up on time. A minute early, in fact. He’d expected her to be fashionably late.

He was ready, of course. Dressed in one of his favourite suits, hair combed back, teeth sparkling white.

He greeted her with a smile and a kiss, and she returned both. As he pulled back from her, he noticed light bruises and scratch marks on her neck.

He traced his fingertips over them, strangely smudging them a bit. She’d tried to cover them up with make up.

“Did I do this to you?” he asked, his voice quiet.

She smiled at him.

“You’ve left your mark on me."

He noticed her voice was lower, more hoarse than before.

“Do they hurt?"

“No,” she said, leaning up to kiss the side of his mouth, “Of course not."

He let out a relieved breath, running his hand through her hair. A darker part of him liked the way the bruises looked on her skin, liked that he’d been the cause of them, but not if they caused her pain. He didn’t want to accidentally kill her. He didn’t have any bruising on his neck. He’d have to ask her how to do it properly.

“Let me show you what I got you,” he said with an excited smile, pulling away from her and walking over to where he’d placed the items.

It was strange to spend money on a girl he barely knew, but he wanted to impress her. Especially since Luka had provided her a lovely dress the other night. He didn’t want to be shown up by him. So, he’d gone all out.

She grinned at the sight of the Chanel bag, sitting on the dining table.

“You’ve done well."

He chuckled, “You haven’t opened it yet."

“I can already tell."

“I had to guess your size,” he said, almost anxiously as she opened it and peered inside.

She pulled out the dress, her movements slow and careful. It was silk, impossibly soft under her fingertips, with a plunging neckline in the front but modest at the back. It was emerald green, a colour he had chosen to complement her red hair.

“It’s beautiful, John,” she breathed. “Thank you."

Her reaction made him swell with pride. He was glad she thought so.

She opened the shoebox next. Inside was a black pair of heels. They were simple, but luxurious, and would pair well with the dress.

“Put it on."

She gave him a smile, unzipping her dress and letting it pool at her feet. He let out a low, lust-filled breath as she leaned over to take off her shoes. She stepped into the dress he’d bought her, lifting it up around her thighs.

“Help me into it?"

He did so, zipping her up. She pulled away from him, twirling around to show it off.

He let out a wolf whistle and she laughed.

She went for the shoes next, sitting down on a dining chair to fasten the straps. She walked to the full-length mirror in the bedroom. He followed, stopping behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I love them, John. You’ve really outdone yourself,” she said, smiling at her reflection.

“You look beautiful, Cara."

She grinned, “Thanks to you. It fits perfectly."

“I got lucky."

She turned in his arms, winding hers around his neck, and kissed him like she loved him.

~~  
They took a cab to the restaurant.

It was a lovely place, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a pianist playing soft music in the corner and tuxedo-clad waiters flitting between candle-lit tables.

“Reservation for John Duncan."

The hostess led them to their table.

Cara sat across from him and thanked the waiter when she passed them their menus.

“Can I get you anything to drink?"

“You said wine was your favourite. Red or white?"

She seemed surprised he’d remembered.

“Red,” she answered with a smile.

She fit in here like she was born to. Cloaked in the dress he’d bought her, she blended in effortlessly with the crystal chandelier and the fine wine. But it wasn’t just her clothes or her pretty face; it was something intangible. An elegance he couldn’t name that radiated off of her. But he knew well that class could be taught. He'd learnt it himself.

The waiter returned to take their order.

“Everything looks so good, what would you recommend?” Cara asked.

The woman suggested some complicated-sounding dish.

“I’ll have that, then, thank you,” she said with a bright smile, as she collected their menus and left them.

Cara watched John over the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“Tell me about yourself."

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her gaze on a waiter as they passed by their table.

“Anything. I want to get to know you."

She put her glass back down, focusing her attention on him.

“Why?"

The word was said with a gentle curiosity, but he couldn’t help but feel defensive. Truthfully, he didn’t really know why he was so interested. She was just some girl and women had always come easy for him. But she was different, he knew that, had felt it since he’d seen the words written on the sides of her hands.

“I like you,” he answered, feeling young and stupid. “And I feel like I don’t know anything about you."

She gave him a soft smile.

“Then ask me something."

He thought for a moment, considering what he wanted to ask her. He settled on what had brought her to the city.

“How did you end up in Atlanta?"

She swirled the wine in her glass.

“I’ve been travelling for a while now, mostly down the east coast."

He leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah? Do you have a favourite place, so far?"

“New York, definitely,” she said, a soft, nostalgic smile on her lips "Have you ever been?"

“No."

He hadn’t done much travelling. Between his childhood and his career, he hadn’t had the time.

“You should go! The energy of the city is like nothing else."

With the glint in her eyes and the smile she wore, he believed her.

“Where are you from, originally?"

She bit her lip.

“Where would you guess?"

He thought for a moment, remembering how it’d sounded like she’d spoken another language the night he first met her, how her phrasing sometimes seemed off.

“I don’t know. Europe, maybe."

She didn’t say anything to confirm or deny his guess. She just brought her glass to her lips, taking a long drink.

“Well, am I correct?"

She chewed on her lip as she placed the glass back on the table.

“Is it not more fun to wonder?"

Her response was light, easy, but her posture was not. He wondered why she was withholding such a simple answer. He hadn’t even asked for a specific country.

“Why can’t you tell me?"

“Everyone has secrets."

Her reply came quickly, but there was an edge to her voice, an unspoken request for him to back off.

“You have more than most,” he said, equally as fast.

“True,” she sighed, sensing he wouldn't relent. “There are certain things I cannot say, John. So yes, I have secrets, just as I’m sure you have your own. If you are to spend time with me, you must accept it."

_What was she so afraid of?_

"Okay,” he said, even though her words only ignited his curiosity. He liked her mystery, it was part of what drew him to her, but he was used to people telling him their secrets. He’d get her to, eventually. Pressing her now would only push her away.

The waiter brought their food to the table and they ate, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. It flowed easy when he wasn’t questioning her.

Cara was subtle, but she ate like someone who didn’t know when their next meal would be. It wasn’t that she wolfed it down, no, she was slow and elegant, it was the fact that she ate every scrap of food on her plate. He could only tell because he had once been like that, as a child. So long ago now.

He would have felt pity or concern, and part of him did, if not for the money he had found in her bag. Another question, one he didn’t dare ask now. That would be an admittance to a crime she wasn’t aware of. Trespassing like that would scare her away, he was sure of it.

They shared a slice of truffle chocolate cake for desert.

He held the fork up for her and she opened her mouth, smiling as he put the cake on her tongue. He chuckled. It reminded him of a scene from one of those stupid romance films he was never allowed to watch as a kid. For once, he thought maybe he could have this. Maybe this could be the start of something, of a relationship. A future. He could never see it with anyone else before.

He paid the bill and walked her out of the restaurant, his arm around her waist.

A twinkling melody resounded through the night air, faint over the sounds of traffic, but growing louder with each second.

“Ice-cream truck!” she called beside him, eyes wide with childlike wonder.

“We just ate,” he chuckled.

It passed by them and she broke from his grasp, taking off after it in her heels.

“Cara!"

He ran after her, feeling embarrassed as strangers looked on at them.

She turned back to him, “Come on, John!"

Her laughter was weightless. They caught up to the truck as it pulled over a block away. Her cheeks were flushed pink from exertion.

The owner, a man in his 40s with kind eyes, leaned out the window, watching them with amusement.

“What can I get you?"

She pointed at one with sprinkles.

“Two waffle cones with sprinkles,” he said, feeling ridiculous saying the order aloud. She grinned next to him, resting her chin on his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck.

He paid for them.

She thanked the man in a singsong voice as he passed them the cones. She licked her ice cream as they stepped away from the vehicle, walking aimlessly down the street.

“Thank you, John. For dinner, too, and the dress.” She leaned in to kiss him and her lips were cold and sweet. “You spoil me."

They walked side-by-side, away from the busy streets, coming to a stop by a red brick wall.

“Hold this?” she asked, passing him her cone.

He took it from her and watched as she pushed herself up onto it, sitting down so her legs hung over the side. She took the ice creams from him as he joined her.

“You wanted to know more about me,” she said, passing his cone back to him.

He realised she was waiting for an answer.

“Yes."

"Let’s play a game then. You ask me a question and I’ll answer it if I can, then I'll ask you one."

“Okay."

He doubted she would be so forthcoming, but he’d humour her. With so many questions swimming in his head, he wasn’t sure what to ask.

“Why did you get the wrath tattoo?”

She sighed, swinging her legs through the air.

“I was angry for a long time. I took it out on other people, on myself… I was rash, impulsive..."

He ate his ice cream as she answered, feeling stupid at the contrast of the childish food and her serious answer.

“Why were you angry?"

She tensed a little beside him, but forced herself to relax, giving a soft chuckle.

“It’s my turn to ask."

She paused for a moment, licking her ice cream.

“Do you believe in God?” she asked, catching him off guard. He wasn’t expecting a question so serious, even though his had been equally so.

He didn’t like to think about religion. Between his father’s beatings and his foster families torture, it had only brought him pain. But he knew her faith was important to her, so important she’d etched it into her skin, so he didn’t want to be harsh.

“I’m not sure,” he told her, and it was an honest reply. "Sometimes.”

He wanted to believe, in the most basal form. Wanted to believe that some higher being had a plan for him. That his life meant something. That once he was gone, there would be something better waiting on the other side. He just wasn’t sure he could anymore. Not after what had been done to him.

He thought about repeating his earlier question, but decided against it. If she’d wanted to answer she would’ve. “How did you meet Luka?"

“I was introduced to him back when I was in New York, years ago. We had mutual friends."

“Do you travel with him?"

She answered his follow-up question this time.

“Sometimes. He prefers not to leave Brooklyn, though."

“Then why is he-"

She tsked in disapproval.

“You ask too much, John. Don’t be greedy."

He chuckled. Usually the mention of sin would make him uneasy, and it still did to an extent, but it was less so with her. They hadn’t spoken of it, but he knew she in some way understood. One didn’t get their sins tattooed on their flesh for no reason.

“Okay, your turn then."

“What is your greatest fear?"

Again, a serious question rolled off her tongue in between licks of ice cream. He thought about it, eating his own cone. He wasn’t sure. He wouldn’t say it was his parents, or death, or anything like that. Being alone forever, maybe, or being helpless. Neither of those were things he wanted to say aloud.

“Failure, I guess,” he replied, because he had to say something. "Not living up to what I want to achieve."

“You shouldn’t worry,” she told him, blanketing his hand with her own. “I think you’ll have all the success you desire."

He smiled at her response, thinking about what to ask next. There were many things he wanted to know about her, but he knew that she was sensitive about certain topics. He wanted to ask how serious she and Luka had been, but didn’t want to seem jealous.

“Have you ever been in love?"

She shook her head.

“No. Have you?"

“No, I have not."

She licked the ice cream, biting into the cone, and pulled away with some on the tip of her nose.

He chuckled.

“What?” she asked with a smile.

“You have some on your nose.”

“Here?” She wiped it, but it only spread further.

“No, let me."

He leaned in and wiped it off with his thumb, then pressed a light kiss on the tip of her nose.

She giggled, her nose scrunching up at the contact.

“You have some on your lips,” she said, and it was a lie. She leaned in and kissed him, and he returned it until he felt his ice cream dripping down his hand.

He pulled away to clean it up before it stained his suit.

She licked her own that had run across her palm, returning to the game.

“What's something that you’ve always wanted to do?"

“Learn to fly a plane,” he answered almost immediately.

“Why don’t you? You have the means."

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Perhaps I will. What about you?"

She thought about it, biting down on her bottom lip. Her brow furrowed, and he wondered if it was something she’d never considered before. It was like she didn’t know what she wanted, as if she didn’t have any dreams or goals.

“I want to go to all of the states in this country."

“Why?"

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. I might find one I like."

“You said you liked New York."

She shifted positions, tucking her legs underneath her.. He was pushing to hard, again. It was a careful dance with her. Trying to get information, but not making her retreat. She answered him nonetheless.

“I do, but I would like something different."

They went on, asking questions that ranged from serious to silly to completely inappropriate. They stayed far away from topics of family or childhood. He knew it was best avoided, both by the scars on her back, and by reluctance to open himself up to such questions.

They sat together on the red brick wall until long after their ice cream was finished, just breathing and laughing in each others company.

He brought her home with him, and once again she was exquisite.

She picked up the clothes she’d arrived in and hovered near the bed, seemingly unsure of whether she was to keep the dress and shoes he’d bought her.

“They’re yours,” he said and he didn’t miss the way her face lit up. “You can keep them."

“Are you sure?"

“Of course. I bought them for you."

She smiled, looking away.

“Thank you, John."

She put her old clothes into the Chanel bag to take home.

“I’ll see you on Wednesday?” he asked, following her to the door.

“If you want."

“Is that what you want?” he asked and she looked away again. His hand caressed her cheek, softly turning her to look back at him.

“Yes, I think,” she replied after a moment.

And once again, she left with a smile and a kiss.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Cara’s point of view & all in the past.   
> Content warnings for sexism & violence, but I don’t think it’s too extreme.

Cara met Luka at the old building where he hosted his parties. He’d sent a car to her apartment with a change of clothes. She liked the way they felt on her skin, liked the weight of luxury. They made her feel much closer to herself than the flimsy material that she owned.

She took a deep, steadying breath before she knocked on the door to the apartment, preparing herself for who laid within.

“Cara,” he said with an insufferable smirk, holding his arms out as if to embrace her. Clasped in one hand was a gun that he tucked back into the waistband of his pants. Dark purple bags lined his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and knowing him, he probably hadn’t. He was on edge, and that made Cara nervous, too.

The two other people in the room greeted her from their spot on a sofa, his accountant and his muscle.

Luka inspected her throat, fingers hovering over the fading bruises there, his smirk widening impossibly further.

“John’s being having fun with you, I see.” She looked away and he walked over to a table, laying out a line of cocaine. "Sick fuck. Told you lawyers are like that."

His men laughed. He looked back at her with a frown, waving his hand in her direction.

“Teach him how to not leave a mark. Don’t need you looking like damaged goods."

He leant down, snorting the line. He pulled away coughing, an awful rattling sound, and wiped a bloodied hand on his jacket.

His dog, a rottweiler tied to a chair, started to bark.

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled and it stopped, tail tucking between its legs in submission. His men quietened too, flinching at his outburst.

She went for a drink, a bottle of top-shelf vodka sitting on an end table.

“Not too much, kid.” Luka’s voice cut through their silence. “I need you sharp."

“What am I doing tonight?” she asked, her voice a little hoarser than it should be.

“Should be asking  _who_ ,” his accountant joked and Luka laughed. Cara grit her teeth.

Luka walked up to her, and brought his hand up to her cheek, pushing her hair out of her face. This close, she could see flecks of blood staining his teeth.

“I’m having some guys come around soon. I need a second set of eyes on them. Make sure they’re not lying to me."

“I can help with that, boss,” his muscle said and Luka cracked a wide smile.

“You? No, you’re too fucking stupid."

Cara laughed at that and Luka released her.

~~  
Luka’s business partners arrived an hour later. The boss was the man she'd met at the club, Robert, when Luka had shown her off like a piece of meat in front of John.

Luka had led them into a side room, where couches and armchairs were arranged into a loose circle and a fireplace burned in the corner.

Cara was draped over Luka’s lap, per his command. His rottweiler was by his feet, its chain held loosely in his fist.

Each of the men had a woman on them. Most of them were oblivious to the details of the discussion taking place, more so than she was. She knew they were dealers of different kinds, and that they were discussing territory like dogs. Luka had provided the women, of course. He didn’t know how to not mix business and pleasure.

She wasn’t one of Luka's whores, she told herself. She didn’t work for cash. Everything was her choice. If it helped Luka sweeten a deal, she was doing her job better, helping pay him back for old debts.

If they gave her gifts, well, who was she to say no? If she later pawned them for cash, well, that was her right. She wasn’t a whore. That would be sinful.

Luka kissed his way up her throat, whispering in her ear.

“What do you think of him?"

She waited until they were distracted, talking amongst themselves to reply.

“He’s lying about the money, Luka. He has more than he says. Fuck, even his bodyguard has a Rolex."

The meeting went on for what felt like hours. Every now and again Luka would whisper something to her; ask her for some insight into what the other men were thinking. He was a clever, dangerous man, but he didn’t quite have her talents.

Eventually, he tapped her thigh as a sign to get off of him. She did so, being careful of the dog on the floor.

“All right, all of you bitches, out. We have things to discuss that aren’t meant for your ears."

~~  
The girls waited in the hallway, sitting on the dusty floor. Cara wasn’t close to them, didn’t get along in the way they all seemed to. She was always alone, apart, even though she’d known some of them for years.

She struggled to relate to women in general. They were more difficult to manipulate, didn’t usually want the same things from her that the men did.

A girl named Ioana moved to sit next to her. She’d come from Romania, originally, like many of the others. Cara liked her. She had pretty green eyes and soft skin and liked to braid her hair.

“Are you coming back to New York with us next time, Cara?"

She shook her head.

“No, I don’t think so."

“Oh, but you always make things more interesting."

She shrugged.

“I want to find work somewhere else."

Ioana paused, choosing her words carefully.

“Not all of the men are as... forgiving as Luka."

Cara looked away. Ioana sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"We’re going to get pizza later, if Luka doesn’t give us to his guests. Want to come?"

The apartment door groaned as it opened. Luka stuck his head out, smiling at Cara.

“Cara!"

She stood up immediately, brushing the dust off her dress.

“Our guests want to hear you sing."

She hesitated before replying.

“I can’t, my throat hurts."

It was true. John had hurt her more than she’d let on. It ached when she spoke; singing seemed not only painful but also foolish.

Luka didn’t care. He frowned, stepping into the hallway. The girls moved their legs out of the way, pressing against the walls.

“Sing, Cara."

She shook her head.

“I don’t want to."

He grit his teeth.

“Cara."

“I said I don’t fucking want to,” she said boldly,  _stupidly_.

The girls shifted, giving each other worried looks. It was a whispered argument with words said through clenched teeth. Hissing like snakes. Trying not to draw attention from the men inside.

He walked up to her, bending down so his face was level with hers, only inches apart.

“You’re going to sing, or I’m going to take your cut tonight, and then how the fuck are you going to pay your rent?"

“I..."

He wound his index finger in her hair, twirling a strand into a lock, and her words trailed off.

“I don’t want to see you on the streets, kid, but you’re making me do this,” he frowned, sighing deeply. "Is that what you want?"

She shook her head.

“Then sing. Besides, you owe me, remember?"

She did. She knew she had a debt to him that she could never repay. She looked down at her feet, weighing her options. She didn’t see any but to look back at him, putting on a warm smile.

“Okay, sure, I’ll sing for your guests."

The room let out a collective breath. Luka smiled, letting his hand fall to his side.

“See, that’s much better. Why do you have to make things difficult?"

She followed him back into the apartment. The men smiled at her as she walked in, but it was predatory.

“Get up on the chair," Luka said, gesturing to it as he flopped into his own seat.

She did so, being careful in her heels.

“What would you have me sing?"

“Whatever you fucking want, kid."

She took a deep breath.

_Tonight you’re mine, completely._

She made eye contact with each man in the room, giving them a warm smile. They clapped when she finished and Luka looked so smug you’d think he was the one they were applauding.

“Beautiful, Cara."

He beckoned her over to him. She sat back down on his lap and the dog at his feet growled.

Luka poured out some of his vodka for the dog, which lapped it up, obeying its master despite its foul taste. The men laughed.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he whispered in her ear as conversation started up again, his nails digging into her thighs. “I’m taking half your cut. Don’t disobey me again."

She nodded and his tension eased. Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t pay her rent with that money. Couldn’t  _eat_  with that money.

Luka brought his whores back in. The men talked business some more, but she struggled to listen. Luka didn’t ask her for any more insight. He knew, despite the smile on her face, she was just dead weight above him. Her mind was elsewhere.

“Robert’s taken a fancy to you, Cara,” he whispered, rubbing her thigh to draw her back to the present. "You think you could be a good girl and give him some company tonight?"

She swallowed.

“Didn’t he already have a girl?"

He grit his teeth.

“He asked for you."

“Okay,” she said with a smile, not wanting to anger him further. She usually wouldn’t question him at all, but he had upset her. She wasn’t in the mood for this.

“Great,” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Much better."

He kissed her, just because he could, and she resisted the urge to bite his tongue.

"I want this dress back tomorrow night. Swing by my place, yeah?"

She nodded. He gave her a wide smile.

“Keep John close, too. Got plans for that one."

“Okay,” she said softly, rising from his lap and walking over to the man on the other side of the room.

“Hey sugar,” she began, an easy smile on her lips. “You ready to go?"

~~  
The first rays of sunlight peaked through the shutters, illuminating Cara as she lay facing the man.

“You need to get going, my wife will be here soon."

She pouted. She didn’t like to be complicit in sin. But she wasn’t taken. This was his adultery.

“Don’t make that face, kitten.” He reached over to the bedside table, picking up his wallet. He rifled through it, taking out a wad of cash and holding it up to her. “Here."

Her expression soured.

“I’m not a whore."

He chucked, the lines at his eyes deepening.

“Are you sure about that?"

She grit her teeth.

“Luka said you preferred jewellery, purses-  _things_. But I know girls like you. You’re just going to pawn them anyways. I’m cutting out the middle man."

“Give me another hundred,” she spat.

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but pulled out the money nonetheless.

She took the cash from him and tucked it into her lace underwear. At least now she could pay her rent.

“You want me to be whore, I will be whore."

She straddled him, letting out a loud, debauched moan. He met her with confused eyes.

“Oh, you’re so  _big_ ,” she said, gripping him. “You feel so good inside me."

“Stop it,” he said, voice low in warning.

"You fill me so good,  _daddy_ ,” she moaned.

“Shut up! You’ll wake the whole damn neighbourhood!"

“Fuck me like the dirty little slut I am!"

“Stop!” he yelled, pushing her off of him a little too roughly, her temple hitting the headboard.

She stood quickly, before he could react, and walked over to his dresser on the other side of the room.

“No? You don’t want me to be whore? Who do you want me to be then?” She lifted up a family photo. “Your wife?"

“Don’t mention her,” he seethed.

She swapped the photo for a bottle of his wife’s perfume, spraying it on herself. He rose then, but not before she could pull a string of peals out of the jewellery box and drape them over herself.

“Put those back!”

“But they’re mine?” she said, imitating a southern drawl.

He grabbed them and in his rage they snapped, pearls flying all over the room.

“Now, honey, look what you’ve done. Those were my favourite!”

He slapped her across her cheek, his ring catching on her skin.

Shocked, she slapped him back, twice as hard.

He grabbed her by her throat, holding her against the wall. His grip tightened and her head was swimming. Her throat, already sensitive from what John had done to her, burned like white-hot flames.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She flailed and kicked at him, scratching at his hands. He released her and she crumpled to the ground, coughing and sputtering for air.

“Get your things and get out, you crazy bitch, or I’ll call the cops."

He looked shocked by his own actions, but she knew she had pushed him too far. She’d gone off the rails, as she always did, and had been seconds from death because of it.

She put on her dress and gathered her heels and her bag, her movements clumsy as she tried to hurry.

“You can bet Luka will be hearing about this!” he yelled and her heart sped up. If this soured his business he would be furious. Robert would go somewhere else now, not wanting to deal with her mess. Luka would have a hard time smoothing this over. She didn’t want to invoke his wrath. That never ended well. If she’d fucked this up for him...

Wordlessly, she left the room and walked out the door as he followed, to make sure she actually left. He slammed it behind her.

She took a deep, steadying breath and stumbled down the driveway, collapsing onto the kerb in a heap of sobs.  _Luka would kill her. Luka would kill her. Luka would kill her._

“Are you alright, ma'am?"

A voice called her out of her misery. She hadn’t noticed she wasn’t alone. A man stood before her, with brilliant blue eyes and long, greasy hair. She was reminded of John by both the face itself and his intensity. She imagined John would be offended by the comparison.

He was a garbage collector, and she didn’t know how she’d missed the truck as it had pulled up right in front of her.

She knew she must be quite a sight in this neighbourhood with her smudged makeup, messy hair and the heels in her hand. She must really look like a whore, now.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, and the honesty of her reply surprised her.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, his fingers ghosting over the wound at her temple. She hadn’t realised. She brought her own hand up to it and winced.

She looked at the blood on her fingertips, her blood, dripping down onto her palm. She liked the idea of her blood soaked into the carpet, Robert trying to scrub the stain out before his wife got home. She felt dizzy.

The man took her bloody hand in his own, his touch gentle, so gentle as he turned it over to read the tattoo on the side.

_Pride_ , it said.

She let him take her other hand, the one holding her shoes, and read the words there.

_Wrath_.

His eyes burned with curiosity. She sensed the questions on his tongue. But then he looked back at her face, at the blood running from her temple, and his expression softened.

“You should go to a hospital."

No. That was not something she could do.

“I don’t have insurance."

“You might have a concussion."

“I can’t go to a hospital,” she insisted, standing. She was unsteady on her feet, dizzy from blood loss and shock.

His hands rested on her arms, helping her stay upright.

“Joseph,” a voice called from the truck. “Hurry the fuck up, man. I got shit to do."

She looked in the direction of the sound, watching as the driver walked around the truck towards them.

“Holy shit,” he started, eyes widening as he took in her dishevelled appearance. “What happened to you?"

Did she really look that bad?

“I...“ she started, unsure of what to say. "I should get going."

She pulled out of the mans grasp and padded down the street, away from him and his unsettling gaze.

“You’re hurt,” he said, following after her.

She waved him off, not slowing her pace.

“I’ll be fine."

“But-"

She whipped around to face him, her voice cruel as she cut him off.

“I’m fucking fine."

He didn’t shrink back, just stared at her. She turned away and kept walking. He didn’t follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was Joseph :) I was tossing between him and Jacob for a cameo, but ultimately decided on him.


	6. Chapter Six

Money renewed the detective’s attention. He arranged an appointment with a sketch artist, to create a portrait to use in absence of a photo. His conversation with the man had drained him, flared up feelings of embarrassment at how little he knew about the woman he called his girlfriend. John Duncan didn’t look _foolish_ , and yet that was exactly how she’d made him appear. His shame turned to wrath and he tightened his already white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel, cursing at the slow driver in front of him.

He wanted to just call it a day and curl up in bed, or drown himself in liquor. Instead, he went to work and told his boss and colleagues about Cara’s disappearance. He’d been dreading it, but he had to now that the police would come sniffing around.

His colleagues reacted with shock and sympathy. The receptionists comforting touch on his arm lingered too long. His boss suggested he take the week off. He declined both offers. It wouldn’t do well to be left alone to his thoughts.

He had his appointment with the sketch artist a few days later. He asked details of her face that he had never considered; the shape of the bridge of her nose, her cupids bow, the space between her brows… He answered of course, each in painstaking detail.

He frowned when he saw the finished picture. It had her red hair, her dark eyes, her scars- all the pieces of her seemed right, or close to right, but there was something in her eyes that the drawing couldn’t catch. No hint of darkness in their glint, no mirth in the smirk on her lips. It was a dead-eyed, unseeing thing that lost everything that made her _Cara_. He wouldn’t recognise her from this, and neither would anyone else. But without a photo, what else could he do?

 

~~Past~~~

Cara wasn’t at the bar when he returned on Wednesday. The bartender said she’d called in sick. He left, disappointed, but picked up a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes from a place down the street. She was worlds apart from Cara, but she was a good kisser and she passed the time well enough.

He went for drinks with colleagues the next evening. It was a typical night, just shit talking the employees that weren’t there, complaining about work, their clients and their wives. They were the sort of people that would compliment someone one moment, and then curse them the minute they left. It was the type of two-faced bullshit that John loathed. That didn’t stop him partaking, however, and he couldn’t help but feel satisfaction whenever someone he disliked was the subject of the insults. John hadn’t been out of college long, but he had already decided he hated lawyers.

He hailed a cab to head home, a pleasant buzz still in his system. Traffic was bad this evening and the drive was irritatingly slow. He stared out the window, watching the people walk past in the night. Drunk women in glittering dresses stumbling out of bars; business men leaving the office, working late to avoid their families; homeless people living out of plastic bags, retiring for the night in doorways; a lone girl with long red hair staring at her phone. Cara, he realised, almost too late.

“Pull over!”

He paid the driver in a rush, almost tripping over his feet in his hurry to leave the cab.

“Cara!” he called.

She whipped around to face him, returning the smile he gave her.

She slipped her phone into the bag at her wrist, and he wondered if the gun was still inside it. She wore the simple dress she had the night he’d met her, but this time with a red scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a men’s messenger bag draped over her shoulder that seemed out of place with her feminine clothing. Her hair hung looser than usual, the shorter strands shielding part of her face from view. Most strange was a blotch of red that stained the white of her left eye.

“John?” she began, and he frowned at the hoarseness of her voice. “Fancy seeing you here."

She wore an easy smile but she almost winced as the words left her throat. It was subtle, but he picked up on it. This seemed worse than a simple cold.

“Are you alright? They said you were sick yesterday, at the bar, and your eye..."

She waved him off.

“Yes, I just have a sore throat and I… I accidently stabbed myself in the eye with my mascara."

He had the sense something else was up, but had no evidence to say so. He had to laugh at the image of that, though, no matter how bad it looked.

“That sounds painful. Why are-“ he cut himself off as he caught sight of it then, as the loose pieces of her hair moved with a gust of wind. There was dried blood at her temple.

He stepped forward, closer to her, hand reaching up towards it. She took a half step backwards in turn, but was trapped by the building behind her.

“What are you-"

She didn’t push him away as he tucked her hair behind her ear, the movement slow and hesitant, as if he feared what he would find underneath.

Her eyes fluttered closed as he looked at the wound in shock. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he would have seen shame in the curve of her lips, in the droop of her brow. Her wound was too deep to be left uncovered as it was, and swollen and angry with the first hint of infection.

“You’re hurt."

“It’s nothing,” she said back, looking away from him.

“Someone hurt you,” he repeated, like he couldn’t fathom it.

Disgust pooled deep in his gut, grew like some foul being. He followed his hunch and reached for her scarf, pulling it down to see the deep purple bruises and red scratches that lay beneath. Someone had strangled her. She lifted it back up quickly, hiding it from passerbys.

"Let’s not do this here, John,” she hissed.

“Who did this to you?” he asked anyway. She saw the wrath in his eyes and found herself lost for lies and excuses. Before she could recover, he continued. “Cara, what happened?"

“It doesn’t matter,” she told him, and the words didn’t sound evasive or bitter, just accepting, and that seemed much worse.

He reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek.

“Of course it does."

Her laugh was raspy, short from the pain of the action.

“No, it doesn’t."

He frowned, running his thumb over her cheek. The skin felt rough and he drew his finger away to see smudged make up and a much smaller scratch. _How could she think that? That someone hurting her was not a matter of concern, something that demanded consequence,_ retribution. He wondered whether her acceptance was born of something darker, something worse than simply being jaded. _What was she afraid of?_

“How can you say that?” he asked, but was met with no reply. She just chewed on her bottom lip, and he had gathered enough about her in the hours they’d spent together to know she was deliberating what she could and couldn’t tell him. He hadn’t really expected an answer from such a question, but it had spilled out before he could consider it.

“You shouldn’t let anyone hurt you,” he insisted, deciding she needed to hear it.

Her face fell, but still she didn’t say anything, didn’t tell him why she had. He released his grip on her face, letting his arms fall to his sides.

“Is this why you weren’t at the bar on Wednesday?"

She nodded.

“Why haven't you seen a doctor?"

It was clear from the lack of stitches and the developing infection that it hadn’t had the attention it needed.

“I don’t have insurance."

His luxury watch felt heavy on his wrist, his suit a well-tailored representation of the greed she’d named as one of his sins.

“I’ll take you,” he offered, surprising himself. He wasn’t exactly the giving type.

“No,” she replied, almost interrupting him in her haste. “I don’t like doctors."

“Cara…"

“I’ll get some supplies later,” she promised, "Patch it up properly."

“Why haven’t you already done so?”

She bit her lip again.

He sighed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Then why not now? Are you waiting for Luka?"

Her response came fast and bitter.

“I’m not seeing Luka tonight."

Wrath built inside him in a swift crescendo.

“Did he do this to you?"

“No!” she yelled, wincing as her voice cracked. She took his hands in her own, looking up at him with begging eyes. “Please John, I don't want to speak of it."

“Okay,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s get some supplies. I’ll take you back to my place, and I’ll have a look at it."

He had experience treating wounds. When he was young, his brothers had helped him. Jacob had dressed them on the rare occasion they had the supplies, Joseph saying soft, kind words. He didn’t think about his brothers much. Honestly, he had few memories of them at all. They were a lifetime away. He didn’t know what had become of them and he hadn’t sought to find out. They’d never cared enough to find him. Once they’d been separated, his foster family had helped him treat the injuries they caused. As he got older, he’d see to his own wounds, too, when he could reach them.

She seemed confused by his offer, regarding him with eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Why?"

He ran his thumbs over the backs of her hands, furrowing his brow. _Why was it so absurd to her, knowing he'd been hurt as she had, that he would want to help her?_

“I don’t want it to get infected,” he said, and it was more than that, but he didn’t know how to explain.

She stared at him for a moment longer, searching for something, and released his hands.

“Okay, but I have an errand I need to run first."

“What sort of errand?"

“I have to give my friend back his bag. He’s just around the corner."

He looked down at the messenger bag she wore. He had a good idea of what was inside. He’d garnered a rough idea of the sorts of things she and Luka were involved in

They walked to the friend’s apartment, only a few blocks away, in relative silence. She came to a stop in front of a doorway, turning to face him.

“You should wait here,” she said, fiddling with the strap of the bag.

“You’ll be alright?"

She smiled.

“Yes. Just a couple of minutes."

She kissed his cheek and walked up to the building, ringing the buzzer. She disappeared behind the doors. He smoked a cigarette while he waited. She returned minutes later, as she’d promised, without the bag.

He walked her to the nearest drug store. He picked up bandages, disinfectant, ibuprofen- anything he thought he could need. Cara was awkward in the fluorescent lights of the store, following him through the aisles. She had a flighty, almost apologetic way about her, like she was sorry for making him do this. It wasn’t exactly how he thought his night would go.

He brought the items to the counter. The pharmacist gave him a troubled look, but didn’t say anything.

“Can you recommend anything for throat injuries?” he asked, because he had to. Cara looked nervous beside him, surprised he’d brought it up.

The employee glanced between the two of them, eyes lingering on the scarf wrapped around her throat and the red in her eye.

“What sort of injuries?"

“Bruises.”

“From strangulation?” he guessed, his expression growing darker. John shifted his weight between his feet, knowing the man probably thought he’d caused the injuries. _He had strangled her,_ he remembered, but that was _different_. His stomach churned as he tried to justify what he’d done.

“Yes,” he answered reluctantly, giving the employee an innocent look.

“I would recommend going to the ER, or at least a GP. Strangulation can be very dangerous."

He launched into a spiel about the risks, how death could come days later, words spilling nervously from his lips.

He felt physically sick. John hadn't realised that he, too, could have hurt her so badly, even though it should have been obvious. He dug his nails into his palms, willing away his guilt. Cara was unreadable beside him, her passive expression giving nothing away as to her thoughts.

They took a cab to his apartment. It was strange to sit in the back with her, sober as they were. She looked out the window, watching the street lamps blur as they sped past, while he looked at her. He took her hand in his own and she gave him a small smile.

She thanked the doorman as they entered his building. She pressed the button on the elevator to take them to his floor, and it was the first time he had a girl with him that knew which one was his.

He poured her a glass of wine while she settled on the sofa. Her phone rang and she looked at the screen, chewing on her bottom lip.

“'You going to answer that?”

“It can wait,” she said with a shrug, turning it on silent.

He joined her, laying out the supplies beside them. She fiddled with the ends of her scarf.

“You can take it off,” he told her and she hesitated before doing so, draping it over the side of the couch. Her bruises were worse than he’d thought from the glimpse he’d caught on the street, the purple and yellow splotches harsh and ugly on her pale skin. Somehow more disturbing were the scratches that intersected them, marks from where she’d clawed at her own throat to free herself. It looked like someone had tried to kill her. Rage burned within him towards some unknown man and he wished she’d given him a name so he could _find them and_ \- he didn’t know what. He wanted her to tell him everything, to trust him, but she didn’t yet and pushing her wouldn’t help. Her hand brushed against his and his eyes met hers. It was hard to tear them away from the injury. She seemed nervous as she watched him.

“You must be in pain."

“It’s okay,” she said, and the hoarseness of her voice told him it was a lie.

“It’s not."

There wasn’t much he could do for her throat, except to give her some ibuprofen that she washed down with wine. He wasn’t sure that was the best combination, but didn’t voice any concerns. He’d done worse and he was sure she had, too.

He picked up a damp washcloth and turned to her. She tied her hair back at the nape of her neck, the shorter strands slipping free. He brushed them aside, holding the cloth up to her wound. He wiped the dried blood away with soft, gentle motions.

“It’s too late for stitches, but you should’ve gotten them."

She shrugged and in her silence, he continued, cleaning the scrapes on her neck and cheek as well.

“It’ll scar worse without them."

“I thought you liked my scars?"

His eyes flickered to hers, the question catching him off guard. He didn’t realise she’d noticed how he liked to stare at them, to touch them, to feel their ridges under his fingertips.

But he hated them, too. Hated how she’d been hurt as he had.

“There’s no need for you to have any new ones."

He sprayed antiseptic next and she winced at the sting of it, clenching her teeth. He murmured an apology.

He dressed the wound at her temple with a bandage, securing it in place.

“Thank you, John,” she said, covering his hand with her own. She brought it to her lips and kissed his bloodied palm, his breath hitching in his throat. She released him and he leaned in and kissed her as gently as he could.

Her stomach growled and he pulled away. She smiled at the sound, embarrassed.

“I’ll order takeout. What do you feel like?"

She shifted in her seat.

“I’m not sure I can eat, with my throat."

He considered for a moment, trying to think of something that wouldn’t hurt her further.

“What about ice-cream?"

“Desert before dinner? How scandalous."

He laughed at that, and humour was a relief after the night he'd had.

“That would be great, John, thank you,” she added, running her fingertips over his.

Her phone rang again, vibrating loudly on the coffee table. Her expression fell as she reached for it. He went to wash his hands, ignoring the fact that he liked the sight of her blood staining his flesh, shaking such thoughts away. _How could he think such a thing?_

She didn’t answer the call she’d received, placing her phone back down instead.

He called an Italian place, a different one than he had the last time she was there, ordering pizza and gelato.

“I’ll give you my number,” he said as he sat down beside her once more, returning with the bottle of wine and re-filling her glass. “So if something like this ever happens again, you can call me."

She seemed reluctant to pass him her phone so he called out the digits instead.

“John… Thank you."

“It’s nothing,” he said, even though it wasn’t.

They settled in together to watch a film, some random action movie he’d had on the shelf. He’d retrieved a blanket from the bedroom and they nestled underneath it, Cara resting her head on his chest. It felt surprisingly normal to have her here, to be doing something as mundane as watching a movie together. By the time the food arrived, they were on their third glass of wine.

He met the delivery guy at the door, thankful Cara was wearing clothes this time.

Her phone kept ringing as they ate. Its buzz was a third person in the room, an uninvited guest. She looked more and more uncomfortable with each ring.

Eventually, he got sick of it and asked,

“If you’re not going to answer, why not turn it off?”

She looked away, debating what to tell him. Her lack of response drew another question to his mind, a hunch like the one he’d had about her injuries.

“It’s Luka, isn’t it?"

“Yes."

“He’s just going to keep ringing."

She considered his words, biting down on her lip. He was surprised she hadn’t drawn blood yet, with all the worrying she’d been doing.

The next time it rang she picked her phone up, deliberating for a moment before answering. She put down the tub of gelato and rose from her spot on the sofa, opening the sliding door and stepping out onto the balcony.

He paused the film and caught pieces of the conversation, each one chilling him further.

_“I’m sorry, Luka. I’m sorry I fucked up."_

_“Please, Luka."_

_“Would you've forgiven me if he'd killed me?"_

Her expression was grave when she walked back in.

“Is everything okay?"

She nodded, sitting beside him and picking up her wineglass.

“Yes."

She drank it and poured herself another, her hands shaking.

He wanted to comfort her but he wasn’t sure how to. He settled for shifting closer, winding an arm around her waist and kissing her hair.

“Do you want to finish the movie?"

She nodded again and set down her glass. He pulled her into him, lying back against the sofa. She rested her head on his chest and draped the blanket back over them.

The credits rolled and he felt sleep creeping in. She turned her head to look up at him and he leaned down and kissed her. She moved above him, straddling him, still covered by the blanket. Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one.

“We don’t have to,” he said, resting his hand on her hip. She was injured. He didn’t want to hurt her further.

She looked at him in confusion, studying his eyes for a moment, before leaning in and kissing him once more. He sat up and slid his hands under her thighs, lifting her as he stood.

He carried her to his bed, setting her down on the mattress. He took off her shoes and her dress, followed by his own clothes. He had her like she was made of porcelain, treating the bruised areas like they were cracks. He placed soft kisses along her collarbone once he was done, while she carded her fingers through his hair. He kissed her a last time, rolling off of her and relaxing against his goose feather pillows.

She leaned over to kiss his cheek, slowly sitting up, the comforter pooling around her waist.

“You can stay, if you want,” he said, tracing one of the scars on her back. “You don’t have to leave."

Her reply was quiet, barely a whisper.

“I know."

She went to leave anyways, kissing him with a reverent softness.

“You won’t be at the bar tomorrow?” he guessed.

“No,” she said, tracing her hand over his chest. "I’ll call you, soon."

He hoped she did, but a part of him wondered if she would at all. He certainly didn’t expect a call the next day, and was surprised when his phone rang on his way home from work.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter into two cause it was getting waaay too long. Like, 6.5 k words long. So, expect an update within a few days  
> Content warning for homophobia, but there's no violence or slurs. Also drug mentions, but that’s like every chapter lol

The police were proving to be useless. They spent the next few weeks going around in circles; questioning him, searching his apartment, contacting the people Cara knew. Her friends were squirrely people and didn’t appreciate the invasion of privacy. They let him know with multiple pissed off phone calls and ignored his pleas for information, claiming ignorance.

He’d had no luck with Luka, either. He’d left countless voicemails, bombarded his associates with requests to find him, even offered to pay them for information. Money could motivate anyone, yet he’d had radio silence so far.

A more pressing issue had arisen. His stash had run out. It was hidden well, in a false drawer of a cupboard, so he hadn’t worried that the police would find it. Cara had always provided the drugs, through Luka. It started with tiredness, then chills, then nausea. When the vomiting began he knew he had to take action.

He was dope sick. He hadn’t realised it’d gotten so bad. Addiction didn’t fit with his image as a rising lawyer. Rationally, he should have known using everyday, multiple times a day, would lead him down this path. It had gotten to the point where he was even using during work, making excuses to pop out to his car for privacy. It was a wonder he hadn’t been discovered.

Anger and disgust flared within him. He was furious at Cara for doing this to him, for introducing him to the drug, even though she hadn’t forced him. Even though she’d warned him against it. It was easier to hate her for it than it was to hate himself.

It took a few calls, but he found a new dealer. It wasn’t a problem he’d ever thought he’d have. He had the money to sustain his habit, but he made a mental note to try to figure a way out of this hole. He knew it didn’t lead anywhere good.

After a particularly unproductive day at work, his phone rang with a number he didn’t recognise. He answered instantly, part of him lighting up with hope that it was Cara.

“I heard you’ve been trying to reach me, John.”

“Luka. I’ve been looking for Cara-"

“I know. Come see me in person. I’ll text you the address."

He hung up then, and a text came moments later. He went straight for his car, heart racing with anticipation. It wasn’t like he could focus on anything else now that he’d been given this lead. Finally, he’d get some answers. Hell, Cara could even be there with him. After weeks of inertia, this felt too easy. There had to be a catch.

~~Past~~

His phone rang while he was driving home from work. He answered, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding it to his ear.

“John?” Cara said, almost hesitantly. Her voice was still hoarse, but a little better than the night before.

“Cara, hey. How are you?"

“I’m… I’m good. Are you free tonight?”

He had a few options for the night, leaving it open in case something better came up. It seemed like that something had just materialised.

“Yes.”

"Would you like to go to a party with me?"

“Yes, of course. Wh-"

“Great! I’ll see you at nine. At your place."

She hung up before he could ask more questions.

~~  
Cara arrived at his apartment a few minutes before nine. She was pretty as ever and he greeted her with a soft kiss, pressing her against the doorway. She wore no scarf tonight and her bruises were very obvious, even covered up with makeup. The red in her eye was also still there, albeit a little severe than the night before.

She fiddled with the lapels of his jacket.

“Hey, John."

He brushed her hair aside to see the bandage he’d applied. She’d bled through it.

“I’ll change it. The bandage, I mean."

She shrugged.

“If you want to."

“Yes.”

She sat on one of the barstools at his kitchen counter while he retrieved the supplies.

“So, where are we going tonight?"

She took a moment before answering.

“Back to that apartment I took you to, where Luka holds his parties."

“You’re speaking to Luka again? Already?”

She gave a sheepish smile.

“Yeah.”

“You seemed so upset after he called."

“I can be... dramatic, at times. It was nothing, really. We fight like children.”

He wasn’t sold.

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, gesturing to her wounds.

“Luka didn’t hurt me,” she pointed out, adding with a sigh. "He was angry, and rightly so. I wronged him, but he has forgiven me."

She held her hair back while he removed the bandage, wincing as he peeled it off.

“Why was he angry?"

He knew he was pushing it. He didn't expect her to answer, but wanted to try anyways. It would be difficult to be in the man’s company if he thought he’d been responsible for her injuries.

“I almost fucked up a business deal, almost lost him a lot of money. But it worked out, in the end. He managed to fix it.”

Her wound looked a little better, a little less angry than it had the night before. He sprayed it with antiseptic again.

“Okay. It just seems sudden.”

She shrugged.

“Are you going to tell me how this happened?” he asked, opening up a new bandage.

He certainly didn’t expect an answer to his question and was surprised when she sighed deeply.

“Do you want me to be honest with you, John?”

“Yes,” he replied, almost too eagerly.

“Probably not,” she said simply, laughing as she saw his disappointment. “Not tonight, anyways,” she added, and he swallowed back his irritation.

He applied the fresh bandage, smoothing out any creases as he adhered it to her skin. She leaned in and kissed him once he was done, pulling him down to her by the lapels of his jacket.

“Thank you,” she told him once they pulled back from each other.

“It’s no problem.”

He still burned with curiosity about the origins of the injuries. Her reluctance to provide answers, while anticipated, annoyed him. He was used to people confiding in him, telling him more than they’d ever told anyone else, but Cara was reticent by nature. He knew she felt she’d already said too much.

He put away the antiseptic and trashed the bloodied bandage while Cara reached into her bag and pulled out a mirror. It was the one she’d used to crush the cocaine the night they met. She flipped it open and gazed into the cracked glass, fixing her hair so the bandage was mostly hidden. It was a pointless action. Everyone would see she was injured, with the red in her eye and the bruises on her neck on full display. He was almost embarrassed as they left his apartment together, not wanting people to think he’d caused them.

They caught a cab to the party. Cara fiddled with the hem of her dress, looking over at him from her seat.

“Luka asked me to invite you, tonight.”

“You don’t want me here?” he joked.

“No! I just mean… he doesn’t do things for fun,” she began, which seemed contrary to what he’d seen of the man. “He has a purpose, so he’ll have some purpose for you. I don’t know the details, but he might… ask a lot of you. “

It seemed like a veiled warning.

“He said he wanted to work with me,” he told her, realising he hadn’t before.

“Are you sure you want to?"

No, he wasn’t sure. He knew a man like Luka could help him get all the things he wanted in life, but he was apprehensive about what his work would entail. His eyes drifted to the bruises at Cara’s throat and he swallowed. He didn’t want to be involved in anything that would cause her, or any other women, harm.

“I feel like if I don’t I might not see you again,” he replied honestly.

She frowned.

“Don’t make this about me.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“If you do this, do it for you,” she interrupted. "Luka can offer a lot, if you want it. But right now you’re free to choose, so…” she trailed off, some unspoken meaning in her silence. It worried him.

“Are you not free to?”

Her eyes widened, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and to his surprise she laughed.

“Of course I am, John. I just mean, your path is your own and...” she paused, her expression turning dark and unreadable, “Men like you can have anything, if you want it enough.”

He wasn’t sure if her words were said with lust or envy, but heat flared deep in his belly nonetheless.

~~

The party at the run-down apartment was indistinguishable from the last one. Groups of people danced by the stereo and lounged in aging sofas, indulging in the pleasures that Luka brought. Instead of leading him to the balcony, Cara took John straight to the more secluded area where he’d met Luka.

The man in question was there, sitting on the same chair as last time. He had a dog lying beside him, its chained held loosely in his hand. It sat up at the site of them, barking and growling. John didn’t care for dogs. They were smelly, noisy, slobbery creatures, and this one was about the most intimidating he’d ever seen.

Luka tugged on the chain and it quietened. He gave them a wide smile.

“Hey, kids!”

Whatever ill will was between Luka and Cara was gone. She greeted him and the others in the room, mostly with more enthusiasm than they showed her. John introduced himself to those he hadn’t met.

Cara claimed a sofa for the two of them, accepting a bottle of vodka from one of the other guests. They shared it, pouring it into dusty shot glasses. Conversation remained light, skirting around any important topics. It disturbed him that the bruises on Cara’s neck were not mentioned, but he was thankful to avoid potentially awkward territory. He didn’t want to ruin the night with talk of what made her uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure if he felt that way for her benefit or his own.

“Cara, I need you to do me a favour,” Luka said after a while, interrupting one of his men.

She entwined her fingers through John’s, tracing her thumb over the back of his hand.

“Yes?"

“Some friends of ours are waiting on a few bags. ‘Need you to deliver them."

“What, now?"

Luka scowled.

“Yes, now. Paulie will give you the address."

She looked between Luka and John, biting her lip.

“Don’t worry, John will be safe with me,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, squeezing her hand. He’d offer to go with, but Cara had told him Luka did things for a reason, and so he assumed there was a reason for this. He was almost certain he knew what it was, actually; he wanted to speak to him without her present.

“I’ll be back soon,” she told him, kissing his cheek. She released his hand, rising and leaving.

The door was shut behind her, muffling the music playing from the next room. Luka leaned back in his seat, looking at John over the rim of his glass.

"Do you know what we do, John?”

“Drugs. Cocaine."

“We distribute along parts of the east coast. We’re expanding into Atlanta. I wasn’t planning on being here long, but things aren’t going as… smoothly as we’d hoped.”

That explained why Cara had told him she’d be leaving soon.

“What do you need my help with?”

“My accountant tells me it’d be good to… diversify our portfolio. Make some legitimate investments. Real estate, stocks, developments, and the like. I’ll need a lawyer. I think you could help me with that."

If Luka had as much money as John thought he did, his business would be a blessing to his firm. But something about his offer struck him as strange.

“Why me?”

He was good at what he did, better than he should have been for his age and experience, but he was still young.

“I’ve checked out your boss. Didn’t like the man.” He scrunched up his nose. “Bit of a dick.” John laughed at that. “Figured I’d go through you, instead. Think you could help set me up with him?”

It made sense, even though it disturbed him how thoroughly Luka had looked into him. He had rambled about himself the first time they met, though, in no small part thanks to the drugs. John knew such an offer could be good for him, career-wise. Luka was clearly not stupid, so he didn’t think it would be such a risk to involve himself. He wasn’t asking him to sell drugs, just for help funneling his money. It seemed all he had to do right now was set up a connection between him and his boss. It was a small risk, with a potentially large reward.

“So, what do you say?"

John didn’t have to think about his answer.

“Yes."

It was one of many things he’d agree to do for Luka.

“Excellent!”

He stood, and so did John, to shake hands.

“They’ll be time for business, later. But for now, let’s celebrate.”

He fetched a small bag of cocaine out of his jacket pocket. They did a line each, Luka pulling away coughing into his fist. John swore he saw blood on his palm, but he knew better than to intrude. Luka whispered to one of his men, and they left the room, returning moments later with a few women.

They wore dresses similar to the one he’d lent Cara. Two went to join his men, the other coming to a stop in front of Luka. His hand settled on the small of her back.

“This is a friend of mine, Ioana.”

She gave him a pretty smile. She was tall, with striking green eyes. John wondered what Luka was intending. Whatever it was, the girl knew what was going on. This was planned.

“She had her eye on you, last week.”

He didn’t remember seeing her among the crowd. He had been rather distracted, though.

“I’m flattered."

Luka smirked.

“She told me some of the things she’d like to do to you.”

John didn’t know what to say. _What Luka was playing at? Was this a test?_

Ioana stepped forward, giving him an approving look.

“Would you like to go somewhere more private, John?”

He stepped away from her, holding his hands up in defence.

“You’re gorgeous, really, but I came here with Cara.”

“She won’t mind,” Luka said, sounding amused.

“I’m not sure about that. I don’t want to be rude.”

On any other day, he’d sleep with the girl in a heartbeat. But this situation was so obviously suspicious, some strange set up. John wouldn’t fall for it.

“Don’t be stupid. She’s a gift, John. I insist.”

The idea of a person being a gift made him uncomfortable, yet her apparent willingness to be one just because Luka asked was the sort of power John craved. He wondered if Cara would do the same, but he pushed the thought away. He didn’t want to even consider something like that.

“That’s really not necessary, Luka."

He frowned.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

Luka gestured for Ioana to sit in a sofa next to his, passing her a bottle of vodka.

They settled back into their seats, the awkwardness drifting away after imbibing in a few more vices. He’d hoped the incident would be forgotten, but Luka had other ideas.

The conversation died down as there was a knock on the door. One of the men let Cara into the room. She looked surprised to see John there.

“Glad you could re-join us,” Luka said as she slipped back into her seat beside John. He kissed her in greeting, cupping her cheek, gently brushing her uninjured skin with his thumb.

“John’s agreed to work with us.”

“Great,” she said, looking between them.

“Except, he refused my gift.”

She just swallowed, running a languid hand across his chest. John wondered why Luka was bringing this up, what his ploy was, but came up clueless.

“Now, Ioana’s a very beautiful woman, yes?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, and John knew she was uncomfortable despite the steadiness of her voice.

"And if you were a man, you would want her?”

“Yes.”

“Yet John turned her down.”

“I-“ he began, trying to explain himself, but Luka interrupted with a smirk.

“I wonder if he’s not gay.”

“ _What_?” John said in disbelief. He couldn’t think of a reason why Luka would target him like this, except just to torment him.

Luka laughed.

“Well, I can’t think of any other reason to reject her.”

“I didn’t want to offend-“

“Would you be offended, Cara?”

There was only one answer.

“No,” she said.

“Of course I want her,” he began, trying to redirect the conversation. “But I came here with you, Cara. Hell, I’d love have both of you.”

Luka laughed again as Cara blushed deep red, her eyes widening impossibly.

“John! That would be sinful!"

“What?” he said, waiting for some joke, some sarcasm. "You really think that?” he asked after a moment, his stomach dropping.

His parents had held similar beliefs. It had taken him some time to untangle them, to see them for the lies they were, and he was surprised that she hadn’t done the same. He knew that was where she’d gotten them; in his experience, parents were the first place to look for cause of a child’s sins.

"Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind; it is abomination.”

He knew the passage she was quoting. He’d read the bible cover to cover. Sometimes his parents had assigned passages to read, other times he’d taken the initiative himself and sat in their chapel for hours at a time until the words bled into each other. He willed the memories away, forcing himself back to the present.

Luka rolled his eyes, “No men are fucking, Cara.”

In another circumstance, he could have laughed at that.

“Still, it is unnatural! The most perverse manifestation of lust!”

Luka’s dog starting barking. He yelled at it and it stopped. He rose with a sigh, walking behind Cara, dog in tow. She barely noticed, distracted in her ravings, until he covered her mouth with his hand. She stopped immediately, tensing up at the contact. John wasn’t sure whether he should step in. She seemed afraid, and he didn’t want that, but he wanted her to stop talking. Such vitriol disgusted him, and he didn’t want to associate that emotion with her.

"Enough of that, kid. You know how I feel about all that sin talk. Thou shall not covet, thou shall not steal; how about thou shall not talk?”

He laughed and his men joined in, releasing his hold over her mouth.

“How about another drink?” he said, ruffling her hair. When she didn’t respond, he added, “Lighten up.”

He walked back to his chair, flopping into it once more.

John passed her the bottle of vodka and she took it, her hand lingering on his. She looked at him with apologetic eyes and he gave her a look that he hoped said forgiveness. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to look past her cruel words, but he knew what it was to be misled by parents. To have their views poison a still growing mind. She could change, just as he had.

Conversation flowed again, gradually picking up steam. After a time, Luka received a call and his expression bittered.

“I’m afraid that’s my turn to leave. Enjoy yourselves, kids.”

He left with one of his men, his dog, and Ioana. It growled at Cara as it passed her.

“That was weird,” he whispered to Cara when the others were engrossed in conversation. “The whole thing with that girl.”

“Ioana,” Cara corrected him. "Luka just wanted to reward you.”

He wasn’t sure he believed that. There’d been something else at play.

"Why didn’t you accept?” she asked him.

He reached for her hand, tangling his fingers through hers.

"I came here with you, not some other girl.”

She smiled, looking down at their hands.

"So you're gonna be one of us now, huh?”

“Looks like it."

“We should celebrate,” she said, unknowingly echoing Luka. Before he could reply she leaned in and kissed him. His hands went for her waist, drawing her closer, and she entwined hers around his neck. They drank from each other and then from the bottle of vodka, enjoying the pleasures that were freely given in this dusty apartment.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly in the present rather than the past  
> If you don’t hate Luka yet, u will in a minute lol  
> Also oops this took longer than expected to edit.  
> Content warnings for violence & mentions of child abuse  
> Next chapter will be much more light-hearted :))

John drove to the address Luka had given him. It was an unassuming building on the bad side of town. He parked, briefly worried someone would try to steal his car, but put such fears away. This was more important. Unease built within him with each step as he went to the apartment, knocking twice.

His muscle answered the door and let him in. He’d never been to Luka’s place before. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

For all the man’s wealth, his apartment was small, with peeling paint and stains of unknown origins on the carpet. He had piles of books stacked on the floor and John glanced at them, catching glimpses of their titles. _War and Peace. Moby Dick. Lolita._ The thought of Luka sitting down to read the classics was absurd.

Cara was nowhere to be seen. His heart fell in his chest. He was hoping his search would end here.

“John. Can I get you a drink?"

He was momentarily thrown by Luka’s appearance. He looked terrible, on the edge of death. He was paler than he’d even seen him, his eyes hollow and surrounded by dark circles. His lips were purple and chapped, and his greasy hair was longer than he remembered, tied into a bun at the nape of his neck.

He was somehow more intimidating with his cane, the bullets he had taken not all that long ago damaging one of his legs beyond repair.

“No,” he said. He didn’t have time for pleasantries anymore.

“Alright. You two, out, now,” he said to his bodyguards.

They left.

Luka poured himself whiskey and sat down in an armchair. John sat on a sofa that faced it. As he approached, Luka’s dog lurched forward, tied to a pipe in the corner. It let out a choked breath as it was stopped by the chain. It settled back on the floor, whining softly.

“I’m moving away. Back to Brooklyn. Don’t think I could stand another day in this city."

John didn’t care.

“Where’s Cara?”

Luka smirked, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

“Cutting straight to the chase, are we?” he asked, frowning when John didn’t respond. “I haven’t got a fucking clue.”

“Bullshit.”

He raised his hands in mock defence.

“She asked to be sent somewhere else. My boss lent her to someone, don’t know who; he wouldn’t tell me if I asked.”

_Lent_ like she was _owned_.

If what Luka was saying was true then she’d chosen to leave. She hadn’t been forced, or kidnapped, or killed. She’d asked to be away from him. It stung, though he knew he’d driven her away, perhaps more so for it.

“What do you mean?"

"She was a whore, you know that right? You’re girlfriend was a fucking prostitute.”

Fury rose in his chest at his words, even though he’d known them to be true for a long time. Since the beginning, if he was honest. Questions ate away at him, at his love for her. They'd poisoned parts of it with doubt and fear. _At what point did she stop fucking other men? Was it when he called her his girlfriend? When she’d moved in? Or later, when they’d started a life together in Rome?_ And a much worse one, _what if she never had?_

He dug his nails into the sofa, trying to stay his rage.

“Shut the fuck up."

Luka laughed, the sound turning into a terrible, choking cough. He brought his fist up to cover his mouth, spattering blood on his hand. John curled his lip in disgust. He didn’t know what was wrong with Luka, but it didn’t sound good.

“Easy now, John. Don’t need to be so angry. We can be civilised, can’t we?”

He grit his teeth. He needed to get all the information he could from Luka. Anger wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Who’s your boss?”

“Why do you even care? She wasn’t anything special.”

Luka’s confusion was genuine, and it surprised John. How could anyone look at that girl, and not see what he did? See anything but a breath of life and energy? Even the cynic in John found her extraordinary, if not damaged beyond repair.

“Of course she is. You wouldn’t have kept her around for so long if she wasn’t.”

“She was useful to me. Doesn’t make her special.”

“How was she useful?” he asked, even though he feared the answer. Luka wasn’t only talking about sex, surely, because if that was the case then even John knew she was more trouble than she was worth.

“She could look a guy in the eye and know if he’s lying. Just like that. Helped me out in business.” He smirked. “Also, she was a good fuck.”

John scowled, ignoring his comment. He knew he was trying to goad him, but he couldn’t see a purpose for doing so. Luka wouldn’t have called him here just to piss him off.

“Then how could you say she wasn’t special?"

He shrugged.

“She had her talents. So does everyone. “ He paused, finishing his glass of whiskey in one long sip. “She’s just one girl, John. There’s tons like her. Hell, I could have one over within the hour.”

“You’re wrong,” he insisted, leaning forward in his seat.

“You barely even knew her. “

“And you did?” John asked with a condescending tone, figuring Luka was about to rave about how he was the one who understood her. How no one knew her like he did.

“No,” he said simply, irritating John. He prided himself at how well he could read people and he didn’t take failure well. "I didn’t care to. Long as she got the job done, I don’t give a shit about the rest.”

He didn’t understand how Luka could be so uncaring about someone who had done so much for him.

“She saved your life!” he said, exasperated.

Luka only shrugged.

“Nothing I haven’t done for her.”

John frowned. The girl he thought the world of was nothing more than a tool to Luka.

“You used her.”

“So did you. And she certainly used you, as well.”

His words shot anger back into his chest. Cara was everything to him, and he’d thought himself everything to her. To imply that wasn’t the case was more than a lie; it was an insult to his pride.

“What are you talking about?”

He smirked.

"You really fucking loved her, didn’t you? You idiot.”

“She loves me.”

He snorted.

“She does! She told me."

She had, countless times. Hesitantly at first, but as time went on, the words fell as easily from her lips as a smile. It had been difficult for him, too, to admit to his feelings. He’d never thought himself capable of love, never thought he’d find someone who he wanted to be that vulnerable around. But they’d been weak and vulnerable together, and for Luka to deny that, to insult him for it- it built his wrath in a swift crescendo.

“She says lots of things."

“Someone like you wouldn’t understand,” he spat.

Luka was a monster; he’d suspected that since he’d met him. He’d hoped it wasn’t so, but the man had proven him right.

“Yeah, 'cause nothing says love like choking and cutting each other up.”

He froze. _How could he know what they’d got up to? Had Cara told him?_ He couldn’t have known any other way, and the betrayal stung, even though he’d betrayed her trust in his own ways. When Luka put it like that, when he voiced their actions, they didn’t exactly sound healthy. But it wasn’t like that; it wasn’t something others could understand. She made old hurts feel good, feel cleansing, feel pure.

“Like you can talk, you-“

“I what, John? I never did any of that shit to her.”

“You murdered-“

“A traitor.”

As John grew more flustered Luka stayed calm.

“Cara said some of the girls went missing.”

He shrugged, “Shit happens.”

It wasn’t a denial or an acceptance. His blood ran cold, as a terrible thought came to mind.

“You didn’t do anything to Cara, did you?”

“No,” he chuckled, coughing again. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He believed him. It seemed like he was telling the truth, though if it wasn’t true he had plenty reason to lie. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Luka spoke again.

“You have more questions, don’t you? You came all the way here, might as well ask them.”

Countless questions buzzed in his mind, things he’d wondered about for months. He took a moment to settle on the first one to ask, one that encompassed everything he wanted to know.

“Who was she?”

Luka dug into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. He offered one to John, but he shook his head no.

“All the girls are nobodies, John. They don’t join the business if they’re someone. They’re drawn in by the money, and the… companionship, just as you were.” He pursed a cigarette between his lips, setting it alight while John waited for him to continue. He took a deep drag. “Though, one thing about Cara. All the other girls had to be seduced, so to speak. Given promises, or gifts, or what have you. Not her. Someone else already broke her. My guess is the one who gave her those scars.”

“You really don’t know anything about her? Her family, her childhood, _anything_.”

“There’s nothing to know. Probably came from a broken home, a runaway.”

Maybe she really was nothing. Perhaps all of her mystery, all of her evasiveness was for no reason other than boredom, or worse, to conceal what she really was. For all of her charm and beauty, maybe she was just nobody. Like he once was. _No_ , he decided. No matter what she came from, she was remarkable.

"Where was she from?"

“Fuck if I know. We get most of the European girls from Romania, but she wasn’t from there."

The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“What do you mean?"

“Coke’s a new venture, John. Diversifying the portfolio.”

Luka grinned; he was enjoying this.

“You bring these women into the country?” he asked, wary, trying to process what he was saying.

Luka took another drag of his cigarette.

“Not me personally. I just funnel them from New York. I don’t know shit about how they get them."

He knew the word for this, the legal term. Human trafficking. But to put it on Cara, to label her that way, _a victim,_ seemed wrong. It felt icky, and worse, it made him feel complicit. He’d worked with this man and his people, drank with them, accepted their money. He felt sick.

Luka put out his cigarette on the side of his chair, uncaring of damaging the fabric. He leaned forward in his seat, gauging his reaction, mischief in his eyes.

“You should’ve seen her when she was fifteen… all scared and doe eyed,” he chuckled, wearing a despicable smirk.

John froze in horror. He couldn’t believe the words that’d rolled off Luka’s lips. If he was angry before, he was furious now. He’d been whoring her out since she was just a child. No wonder she’d been so attached to the man and so fearful of him. It explained other things too, about her. Her willingness to do whatever he asked, her avoidance of authorities, the surprise in her eyes each time he asked her what she wanted.

It happened quickly. John leapt forward, his fist connecting with Luka’s jaw before he could stop himself. He punched him once, twice, again and again, hearing the satisfying crunch as his nose broke under his fist. It was warped to the side, crushed in a way that would never fully heal. He’d have to wear his sin forever. Luka’s dog barked furiously, but it was just background noise to John. He barely even realised it was there. All of his senses had dulled in his wrath.

He stopped, panting and a wide smile spread across Luka’s face, flecks of blood on his yellowed teeth. His rage rose again at the sight of it and he wrapped his hands around his throat. He tightened and tightened until he convulsed under him, clawing at his hands. He forced himself to release him. He wanted to find Cara, and Luka was his best chance to do so.

He coughed and sputtered and laughed and there was unmistakably Cara in him, just like there was Cara in John, too. She was a poison of her own; she seeped into everyone she touched. The thought that maybe it was Luka that was in Cara didn’t even cross his mind.

To his surprise, Luka didn’t call for his men. He yelled at his dog to shut up, the sound rasping and broken. He should have brought a gun, John thought, looking down at what he’d done. His face was swollen and his breath wheezing. He was uglier than he’d ever been.

“Y’know, she came to me that night when she left you, all sad like, looking for affection,” he drawled, his voice weak but comprehensible. “I was happy to oblige, of course."

You’re lying,” he said, suspicious of Luka’s words and his intentions.

"I fucked her, John."

His rage flared but he didn’t lash out, as Luka clearly wanted him to. He fought to keep his anger in check; he could hurt him later.

Who is your boss?” he asked again.

“I have nothing to lose, John. Why would I tell you?”

“I’ll kill you."

Luka just laughed. He couldn't kill him here, with his men nearby. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t. The man had cheated death countless times, and he would again tonight.

The fucker didn’t deserve a quick death. He deserved to rot away in a cell. John was a lawyer, and he had witnesses and text messages and all sorts of other evidence. He could build a case against him, even though he feared the consequences of doing so. He didn’t know how big his organisation was, if anyone would come after him. He’d seen what Luka had done to the last snitch. Still, he wouldn’t let this monster go. It would take some time, but Luka would pay for his sins. He’d make sure of it.

Luka’s breathing was loud in the silence. Wheezing, through his swollen nose and lips.

“She’s gone, John. Let her go.”

How could he ask that of him? Sure they’d only been together for months, but she was everything to him. He wouldn’t let it end that easy.

“No."

"Y’know, I liked you, when we first met. Never took you to be so foolish.”

He was baiting him, John realised. It was like he wanted to die. Was that why he’d called him here? To kill him?

“She played you like a fuckin’ violin. You fell right for the lost girl act. _Oh John, my parents beat me, too. I’m the only one to understand you. Save me from mean Luka._ ”

He laughed.

She’d told him what his parents had done, shared things that he’d never told anyone. Maybe her love for him had been an act. _No_. He couldn’t believe that.

“Shut up.”

“It’s like she put a spell on you, or something. Like a- like a fucking witch. Y’know what they used to do with girls like that? Burn ‘em at the stake. Think we should-“

John grabbed his throat again and he looked up at him with eyes that dared him to do it. He eased his grip once more.

“I chose you, you know. Not Cara,” he started, sounding almost desperate.

“I chose Cara,” John corrected.

“Maybe,” he wheezed. “But I told her to keep you around. You were nothing but a quick fuck to her.”

“You’re lying.”

“I saw you could be manipulated. Saw you for what you are. A lonely, hurt child. You had that look in your eyes, like some of the girls. Like Cara.”

John slapped him across the face. Luka spat blood onto the floor.

“Your success is because of me!” he said, his voice hoarse and weak and awful. “Don’t forget that.”

It was John’s turn to laugh.

“Everything I am I made myself. You were just a shortcut.”

Luka snarled, spitting on him. It was a desperate attempt for more retaliation, like he was begging to be killed. John wiped his bloody spit off of his face, looking down at the man in disturbed confusion.

He wouldn’t get any more answers out of Luka, and he needed to go before his bodyguards saw what he’d done. He adjusted his suit, stained with Luka’s blood and left his apartment, his laugher ringing out behind him. He vowed to have justice. For Cara, and all the other girls who’d suffered from men like him. He wouldn’t be like everyone else and turn a blind eye to children who needed help. Like so many had to him. The more he saw of this world, the more he wanted it to burn. He would channel his rage to hellfire and bring down anyone involved with Luka’s organisation.

Luka died a week later. Not from a bullet, not from the cancer that riddled his body, but from a fucking heroin overdose. John was furious he hadn’t been involved.

He thought of Cara, somewhere far away. He wondered if she knew, wondered if she mourned him. He knew she did, undoubtedly so.

He thought to attend his funeral, to see if he could find his boss or Cara herself, but none was held. No one cared. Men like him didn't get funerals. He ruled out of fear, and dead men weren’t feared. He was replaceable. No one even claimed his body.

~~Past~~

He drank until his head was swimming and his body was filled with warmth. He hadn’t been this drunk in months and he hadn’t realised he’d consumed too much until entirely too late. Vodka was a sneaky poison, one you didn’t realise you’d tipped yourself over the edge of until you were already falling. All he could do was enjoy it while it lasted.

“I want to take you on another date,” he said, placing feathered kisses up her neck, his world spinning with each movement.

She giggled, running her hand across his chest, poking him above his heart.

“How about I take _you_ on a date."

He grinned, pulling her closer to him.

“Yes. I’d like that."

She kissed his lips, leaving him lightheaded when she pulled away.

“Where will you take me?”

“Hmm, I have some ideas.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m going to show you so many things, John.”

“What sorts of things?"

She chuckled.

“You’ll see.”

She carded her hand through his hair, securing a stray piece back in place.

“I wonder if you’ll remember this in the morning."

“‘Course I will,” he slurred.

“Somebody’s had a little too much fun, I think"

“Not enough,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. She indulged him, even as his hands wandered up her dress.

After a while he closed his eyes, leaning his head against hers. The music was too loud, too much. He felt ill.

“Let’s get you home,” she said, taking his hands in her own. She pulled him to his feet and he swayed, almost falling as he stood. She laughed as she steadied him, the sound gentle rather than cruel.

She let him lean on her as they stumbled out of the building. He paused as they stepped outside to puke on the wall.

She helped him into a taxi. The driver initially refused, but she said something he didn’t hear that swayed his mind.

He rested his head on the window, watching the blur of lights outside. He closed his eyes with a groan.

She helped him into his apartment, past the doorman who gave a knowing look. He puked on himself the second they passed through the front door, onto his fine clothing and shoes. She closed it behind them.

She took him into the bathroom. He could scarcely control his own feet, wobbling about all over the place.

He sat on the floor of the shower while she turned on the faucet, resting his head back against the cool tiles.

“I'm all fucked up,” he mumbled and she laughed.

“Yes, you are."

She peeled off his clothes, ruined by the vomit and the water. He'd be mad about it in the morning. She rinsed them out anyways, while he turned and vomited into the drain. She hung his clothes over the bathtub to dry.

He let out a loud groan as she helped him to his feet once more. The water had cleaned him, mostly, so she shut off the tap. She carded her hand through his wet hair, brushing it out of his face. He leaned down to try to kiss her and he heard her laugh again, his lips finding the skin at her neck instead. He heard a hiss that almost sounded pained, but he was too far-gone to register it.

She wrapped him in a fluffy towel, wiping away most of the water. She guided him into his bed, pulling back the covers and tucking him in. He was out like a light the moment his head touched his pillow.

~~  
He woke the next afternoon, cringing against the light. He rolled away from it, burying his head under his covers. Pieces of the night before came flooding back to him, and he realised he couldn’t remember how he got home. He sat up, his head feeling like hell and his throat aching. Thank god it was a Saturday. On the nightstand was a glass of water, aspirin and xanax. He thanked himself from the night before, taking them, hoping for relief from his pounding head.

Nausea came like a wave and he ran to the bathroom, just making it in time to the toilet to empty his guts. It was only acid, at that point, and his throat burned. He noticed his suit hanging over the tub, soaking wet, as he rinsed out his mouth in the sink. A sliver of a memory came back to him then and he felt the water running over his fully-clothed body, felt her hands undoing his buttons as she removed his clothes.

He cringed, embarrassed she’d seen him in such a messy state. She must have left him the aspirin and xanax, then, and a warmth spread through him at the thought, even though she was likely only repaying the favour of him helping her. He’d have to apologise for his behaviour.

He was thankful Luka hadn’t seen him like that. He remembered talking business with him, the weirdness with the girl, but barely anything after he left. He’d agreed to a date, he thought, but he’d have to call Cara to confirm the details. He wondered what strange place she’d take him to. It was sure to be something different.


	9. Chapter Nine

John spent the next few weeks looking over his shoulder, scared someone would come after him for what he’d done to Luka. He knew he’d been stupid to hurt a man like him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. Worse still, he couldn’t forget how _good_ it felt to hurt him. He wasn’t sure what sin this was; Wrath didn’t seem to encompass it.

He spent time gathering evidence, too, collating documents and text messages and all the rest. He wished Cara hadn’t deleted the pictures, because quite a few of them documented their illicit activities. He didn’t mention Luka to the police, not yet. Their current ineffectiveness gave him no reason to, let alone the potential of charges against himself.

He decided to hire a private investigator. The one he found was a balding man with a pudgy belly, nothing like the detectives he had seen in movies, but he had a look in his eyes that said he got shit done. Not more than two days later did he get a call from him, telling him that he had a lead.

He met him after work, at a pawnshop on the other side of town. Cara had sold jewellery there, apparently, a day after he’d last seen her. When he walked in, his PI was already in conversation. The man seemed pleasant enough, receptive to answering questions. He hadn’t even had to bribe him.

“She had a few necklaces. Diamond earrings, too.”

She’d taken much more than that from him. She must’ve sold to multiple places, or hung on to most of it. Selling too much to the same place would be suspicious.

“Was this her?” the PI passed over a copy of the sketch.

“Hmm, could be. But she didn’t have red hair. She was blonde.”

His heart fell. Just then, they noticed him in the doorway.

“John! This is Carlos."

He shook his hand.

“Tell John what you told me.”

“This girl came in, few weeks back. She had tattoos on her hands, words. _Wrath_. Seemed strange for a small girl like that.”

Just as quickly as his hope had withered it lit back alight, spread like wildfire in his veins. She'd dyed her hair. She was trying that hard to not be found. _Why_. He wished he knew. His sketch would need to be changed if her hair was wrong; it was one of her most distinctive features.

“Do you have security cameras?”

“Yes, I still have the footage.”

“Could I see it?”

He had to be sure. Plus, if it was her it would be good to have a still to use as a photo. It took longer than he expected to find and play the footage. He waited impatiently.

When it finally did play, he was met with disappointment. It was blurry, terrible quality, and it only really captured her back. The lawyer in him was irritated. The angle of the cameras was foolish, really, not giving much information about a potential thief. It’d be useless in court.

And she’d looked away just as she'd passed the camera. Her hair was much shorter, just grazing her collarbones and bleached blonde. Then she lifted up her wrist and he saw it, the snowflake tattooed there. It was barely visible on the shitty footage, but it was her.

His heart sped up in his chest. He’d found her, if only for a minute. She felt inches away, like he could reach out for her, but she was just out of his grasp.

But then reality set in. It was weeks ago. She could be anywhere.

~~Past~~  
Saturday was the worst hangover he’d had in a long time. Thankfully, he felt better on Sunday because it was his first pilot lesson. He’d enjoyed it more than he ever thought he would; it was the closest he’d ever felt to free.

They organised their date for next Friday. A whole week away. He’d tried to suggest something sooner, but she’d insisted. It was no matter. He occupied his free time with other women and with his friends and colleagues. But, he was curious about where she’d take him and his mind often drifted to her during the more tedious hours at work.

She came to his apartment, a few minutes early as always. She wore a red slip dress made of velvet. If the bruises on her neck were still there, they were hidden under make up.

“Hey, John,” she said with a smile, leaning in to kiss him. Her voice was still off, but better, much better. The hoarseness of it was sultry rather than pained.

“Cara. You look good in red.”

He liked the way it clashed with her hair. His eyes drifted over her locks, taking in how they still were arranged to cover her temple. He moved the hair aside. The wound was healing slowly. It had closed over completely, but the scar it would leave would be quite prominent. At least it wasn’t somewhere too obvious; she was still beautiful.

“Where are you taking me tonight?”

She smirked.

“Patience is a virtue.”

She led him out onto the street and hailed a cab. She whispered an address to the driver, giving him one of her most dazzling smiles. They pulled over at an unremarkable road, cluttered with closed shops and busy restaurants.

“Wait here a moment."

She returned moments later with a brown paper bag of food. They drove a while longer, coming to a stop in front of a huge building downtown. The signs on the front told him it was the aquarium. Out of all the places they could go at night, why here?

He looked at her in confusion. She just smiled. It wasn’t often that someone surprised him.

He paid the driver and she led him towards the building.

“It’s closed, Cara.”

She let out a small laugh.

“Patience.”

She took him to a back door and tried the handle. It was unlocked.

“Alex?” she called out, entirely too loud for how close John was standing to her. “Alex?”

Her voice broke a little the second time, a reminder of her injury.

“Cara, hey.”

A security guard strolled up to them, smiling at the sight of her. He looked vaguely familiar, but John wasn't sure why.

“John, this is Alex. He plays guitar for me.”

 _Ah_. That explained it. He supposed playing at a shitty bar didn’t pay very well. The man waved at him.

“Have fun guys, I’ll be back later.”

And just like that he left, giving them the whole aquarium to themselves.

She took John by his hand and led him into the exhibit areas.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to an aquarium before.”

They were in a room with a large tank, filled with fish of all sorts of different sizes and colours. He had to admit it was beautiful, but he didn’t really care for such things. It wasn’t the type of beauty he could easily hang on his walls or wear, the type of beauty he could claim as his own and admire as he pleased.

“Alex took me here, a few nights after I met him. Almost a month ago, now.” she mused. “It’s peaceful, especially at this time.”

“How did you meet?”

He didn’t seem like most of her friends.

“He was- how do you call it, when they play on the street for tips?”

“Busking?”

“Yes, he was busking. I needed a guitarist, so I asked him if he would play with me.”

She stopped at a bench and they sat together, half-facing the tank.

“First, we will eat. And then…” she trailed off, her lips curling into a smirk. “Dessert,”

“Something tells me it won’t just be ice cream.”

She laughed.

“Hmm, you should be a detective.”

They ate the takeout. It was good, better than it should’ve been for the cheap place it came from, but nothing too special. They made light conversation, mostly him complaining about his long week at work. He apologised for being a drunk mess, but she brushed him off with a smile. He tried to ask her what she’d been up to during the week but she just smirked.

“All sorts of things.”

When they finished, she pushed the food to the side.

“Are you feeling adventurous tonight, John?”

“Yes.”

She reached into the paper bag and pulled out a much smaller, plastic bag, with two squares of paper inside.

“What is that?"

“I’m guessing you’ve never tried it, then. It’s acid.”

He’d tried many things, anything that was offered to him. Liquor, cocaine and mdma at parties, adderall to help with his studies. But never acid.

“ _What_?”

He wasn’t sure he'd heard her right.

“LSD.”

“I know what acid is. I’m just… surprised."

“You don’t want to try?”

“No, I do.”

She grinned.

“Great! I thought it would be fun here, at the aquarium, with all the colours.”

She wasted no time, taking it out of the bag and passing one to him.

“It’s safe, right?” he asked, wary of her eagerness.

She laughed.

“Of course, John. You put it under your tongue, like this, and wait ten minutes.”

He did as she showed him.

“It will take a while to kick in.”

“How long?"

“It varies. Half an hour, to an hour, usually.”

“And how long will it last?”

She smiled and he saw mischief in her eyes.

“About six to eight hours, sometimes longer.”

“ _What_?”

She chuckled.

“At least tomorrow is Saturday!”

So that was why she’d insisted on Friday. He should’ve asked her, before putting the paper on his tongue. Truthfully, he knew he’d have said yes regardless.

She took his hands in her own.

“It will be fun, I promise.”

He sighed and smiled back at her.

“I believe you."

She squeezed his hands and released him. She got up from the bench, walking over to the front of the tank.

“Might as well take in the view while we wait.”

He followed, coming to a stop behind her and resting his arm around her waist.

“I didn’t know you were so fond of fish,” he said, a teasing grin on his lips.

She shrugged.

“They’re pretty."

"Do you swim?"

"Oh, no, certainly not. I don’t know how."

"It’s not too late to learn."

She half-smiled, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Have you taken a flying lesson, yet?”

“Yes, actually. Last Sunday.”

He was surprised he’d forgotten to tell her; she'd been the one to encourage him.

Her smile widened.

“Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

“Yes."

“Good. I’m glad. I bet you loved being above us all, like a bird.”

He wasn’t sure if she was trying to imply he was arrogant or prideful. Her tone suggested as much but her eyes were kind.

“I did. I could teach you, if you want. To swim, I mean, not to fly.”

He laughed but she didn’t join in.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“Yes.”

He wanted to know all of her secrets.

"I’m afraid of it.”

It didn’t really surprise him, though he found it strange she’d brought him here. Water wasn’t an uncommon fear.

"Don’t they say its the best way to conquer your fears is to face them?”

She swallowed. The smile slowly slipped from his face. He stepped closer to her, his hand moving to the small of her back.

“What is it, Cara?”

She paused before answering, looking out at the fish swimming past.

"I nearly drowned once, when I was a child.”

She hadn’t talked about her childhood before. He tried to imagine her as a kid. Wide-eyed with a toothy smile, grass stained knees or bloodied elbows. It didn’t fit. Kindergarten bow in her hair and checkered dresses seemed closer, but still, it wasn’t right. He couldn’t believe she’d ever been anything but what she was now.

“Oh,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

She gave him a strange look.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your doing.”

She smiled, and it felt entirely inappropriate.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone before.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to further depress the mood.

She shrugged.

“There isn’t much to tell. It was so long ago now. But I dream of it sometimes. That I’m trapped under the ice.”

She’d lived somewhere cold, he realised. Or visited.

He ran his hand up and down her back, trying to be comforting.

"Then why did you want to come here?”

“It’s beautiful. And I like to see my fear, trapped behind the glass.” She smirked. “Most fears can’t be contained like that.”

She sighed, tracing a finger across the glass, and turned back to him.

“It should be kicking in soon.”

He almost wanted to say something more, to comfort her further, but she leaned up and kissed him and his concerns were forgotten.

Once she pulled back, he felt breathless, and not in the usual way. She picked up on his unease, caressing his cheek with her palm.

“Breathe, John.”

He did, but still his lungs felt almost empty of air.

“This’ll pass. We should sit.”

He leaned against her, sitting in between her legs, his back pressed against her chest.

She carded her hands through his hair, peppering kisses on the side of his neck.

“Relax, John. Relax.”

He listened to her, leaning into her touch.

“You have to let go.”

“Of what?”

He felt her smile against his skin.

“Everything."

~~  
At first it felt nothing more than weed, and he wondered what the big deal was. Then his vision started to distort. Cara watched him with rapt attention, her skin blurry at the edges.

The whole world seemed to warp and bend with his every movement, a kaleidoscope of patterns in the floor and walls. Cara’s giggles echoed in his ears, floating around him like bubbles in champagne.

And suddenly, he didn’t care about himself anymore. He was just a creature like the fish in the tank and he’d die too someday. His mind was buzzing with these strange realisations, with grand ideas of the world and the universe.

They explored the aquarium together. Time wasn’t real anymore. John had no idea if they’d spent minutes or hours in front of each tank.

Colours were brighter, more vibrant than ever before. He swore each fish was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Their forms bled into the surrounding water, leaving trails as they swam.

And Cara was beautiful, too. Her hair danced like flames and he swore it was alight. Her dress felt euphoric under his palms, the velvet impossibly soft. He ran his hands up and down the fabric, again and again. The aquarium lights illuminated her skin, casting a soft blue glow. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and he thought almost demonic. Her gaze didn’t waver for what could have been seconds or minutes, unblinking.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

“Your eyes.”

He chuckled.

“ _My_ eyes?”

“Yes. They’re blue like the sea. I’m looking if there’s any fish trapped inside them, too.”

He told himself to chill out, that there were not, in fact, fish in his eyeballs.

“They’re so pretty,” she said with a smile. “If you were to die, I’d want to take them out and fashion them into earrings."

He didn’t know how to reply to that.

They split up, sometimes intentionally and sometimes by accident. He found her sat in front of the sea turtle exhibit, her shoes missing.

“What are you doing?”

“I swear he can hear my thoughts.”

“What are you thinking?”

“How heavy it must be to carry your home on your back.”

He laughed.

“That’s fucking deep, Cara.”

She joined in his laughter, clutching her sides.

He looked at the turtle and it could hear his thoughts, too, and he could hear hers.

 _Jump in,_ it said. _The waters great._

 _No thanks_ , he thought back, and he swore the turtle winked at him before it swam away.

Then he found his favourite display. They watched together the as the little mushroom-like creatures floated in the water, the coloured lights reflecting on them.

“What are they called again?” Cara asked.

He looked at her incredulously.

“Jellyfish?"

“Yes! That is it."

“The sign says it, right in front of you.”

The sign did look fuzzy in this state, the letters dancing and almost sliding off onto the floor.

She laughed, “I’m not that observant."

He very much doubted that.

He regretfully left the tank, elated to find the next one was also jellyfish, but of a different species.

“Look! It’s more of them.”

He stared into the cylindrical tank. It was much smaller than the others.

“They’re so beautiful.”

Cara laughed beside him.

“They are plastic bags, John. It’s about waste in the ocean."

He laughed with her, too happy to be embarrassed.

They found their way to the seal tank next. It swam up to them, making eye contact with John. He imagined he was the one behind the glass, that he was trapped, and panic rose within him. But then it swam away, did a cute little flip, and the thought passed.

“I can’t help but feel bad for them, caged as they are,” Cara said beside him.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Ah, at least they are safe. And they don’t have to worry about finding their next meal.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be free?”

She bit her lip, thinking.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps.”

He could literally see the thought change in her mind, her face light up with an idea.

“Oh, I have to show you the tunnel!’

She took his hand and skipped off in the other direction, taking him with her. He felt like he was walking for the first time, a newborn fawn unsteady on his legs.

It was a long, glass pathway. The ocean was above them, beside them, curling around them like a blanket. The walls seemed to move to and fro like the tide. He wondered if he really was out at sea, travelling through a hollow in the wave. He couldn’t remember which way they’d come from, but he just followed, one foot in front of the other. Cara’s hand slipped out of his as she took off ahead of him, her voice echoing in his ears.

“I’m tripping my fucking tits off!”

A shark passed above them and he thought he might die of fright, erupting into laughter.

They ended up back at the tank where they started. She turned to face him. She pulled her dress off over her head and kissed him.

He didn't feel the need for sex, for once, no lust pumping through his veins. But her hands felt euphoric on his skin. He missed the feel of the velvet. He felt like he was melting into her. Like there was no distinction between them. They explored each other for what could have been minutes or days, drunk on the feel of their skin.

Alex came in to kick them out before opening.

“Damn, where are your clothes?”

He couldn’t find it in himself to care for this stranger to see him like this. Usually, he’d scramble for his shirt to cover the scars on his back, but right now they were just lines to him. They collected their clothes, dressing while they talked to Alex. He turned away to give them privacy.

“Y’all are really this fucked up, huh?"

He laughed at the ridiculous things that came out of their mouths.

They took a cab back to his place, trying to act normal on the drive. He worried that the driver would call the police on them, that they’d get busted, but no such thing happened.

They took the lift to his apartment, greeting the doorman on the way in. They lay about, watching TV as the sun rose. She left, even though she was still high as fuck.

“You’ll feel the afterglow for today, even once you wake. But it should feel good.”

“This was amazing, Cara.”

She grinned.

“I know.”

She kissed him at the door.

“I’ll see you soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aksjhdaois sorry it took like 3 weeks for me to write three thousand words about them droppin acid at the aquarium.  
> the next chapter will be less ridiculous and the one after that will be hella dramatic so yall can look forward to that :))  
> I'll try to update more frequently :)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for description of a body

Over the next few days, his PI contacted local churches to try to gather more information. John had never been certain if Cara had actually spent her Sunday mornings at mass, let alone what denomination she belonged to. Her beliefs didn’t always match what he’d been taught, but that’d been tainted by his parents. She could’ve been doing god knows what with Luka. It wasn’t exactly a prime time to push drugs, though.

His PI called him a week later. He’d had no results on the church front, but a body had come into the morgue that matched her description. He suggested John take a look at her before the autopsy, before the police asked him to, to speed things up. For a price, of course. He left work immediately after the call, hands shaking as he drove. This wasn’t something he could wait on.

He was told it was a possibility she was dead, even a likelihood, but he didn’t want to believe it. Walking down the hall to the room, temperature dropping with each step, made it seem much more real.

The body had been mutilated, he was warned in the call. Her skin burned, her hands missing. Areas where Cara had tattoos gone. He hardened his composure to steel as he walked in.

He shivered in the cold, watching the man pull out the tray that held the body. A black plastic was draped over her.

The smell wasn’t as bad as he thought, all things considered. The cold helped, he supposed, but it was still distinctly unpleasant. The body had been left for days before they’d found it.

The man turned to him. He was old, tired looking; aged by time and his line of work.

“You ready?”

“I’ll do it,” he said. He had to.

He took a deep breath, regretting it as decay reached his tongue, and pulled back the plastic.

It wasn’t her. Relief flooded him.

She was similar, though. Bleached blonde hair like Cara in the video. Same curve of her nose. Similar scar at her temple. It wasn’t her, but it could have been. And it’s too real, it’s much too real. He'd seen a dead person before, but not like this. Not a girl, Cara’s age, with features similar to hers, cold and laid out on a metal slab. Not someone decayed, face bloated and skin sallow, blue lips and bruises around her neck.

Who was this girl? That no one loved her, no one cared she was gone. She was nameless. He wondered if Cara was out there, somewhere like this, alone. She could be another body, anywhere.

Cara's laughter echoed in his ears. Even gone, she was making him do shit like this.

“Next time, just send me a picture,” he said dismissively, but there was a hint of his lost composure in the shake of his hands as he fixed the plastic back into place.

That night he scrubbed himself clean in the shower until his skin was raw. He felt dirty, like some of the death of the body had clung to him. His sleep was worse than usual, so he drowned it out with liquor. Each time he closed his eyes her dead ones stared back at him.

 

~~Past~~  
John was shattered the day after the aquarium, but god did he want to do it all again. He went flying again on Sunday, the last of the afterglow faded by then. That night, Luka called him in for a meeting, at the apartment block of his parties. He went alone for the first time, half-expecting Cara to be waiting for him there, but she wasn’t. They discussed things, more preliminary arrangements than anything, his expectations of him. Luka said he didn’t need a lawyer for a specific case, but more to consult for advice. He’d never done any legal business before. He figured Luka’s money could help fund some of the projects his firm took on, to make it clean. He even had a few ideas of his own. He promised to get him in for a meeting with his boss soon, and he wasn’t sure how much information to divulge about his shadier dealings.

“Right. Let’s head to the club.”

“Will-“

Luka smirked, patting him on the back a little too hard.

“Cara will meet us there.”

They drove over, sharing a car. He sat in the back with another of his men. They were led to the VIP area again and Cara was already there, lounging about with some of Luka’s friends. She wore the same dress she had the last time she was here, and he childishly wondered who had zipped it up this time. He chastised himself for the thought; he had no right to be so possessive of her. He’d never wanted to take a lovers freedom before.

She had a knife in her hand, playing a game he had no name for. She moved the blade quickly between her fingers, leaving cuts in the wooden coffee table, while the others egged her on. The sight of it drew up a memory, one he didn’t even know he had. Jacob, sitting at the table, kitchen knife in hand, so many years ago. Getting beat when he got caught. Playing it again, just to spite their father.

She smiled when she caught sight of him, passing the knife back to one of the men.

“Hey, John.”

He caught the glassy look in her eyes, the clumsiness of her smile. She was drunk.

He kissed her in greeting, tasting vodka on her tongue. If he were sober, he’d have recoiled, but no meeting with Luka was complete without imbibing in a few pleasures.

“Careful,” he said, bringing her hand up to his lips. “Can’t have you losing any fingers.”

She giggled as he kissed her knuckles.

“Luka,” she said as he walked past them, “Hey.”

“Hey, kid,” he replied, settling into his chair. “See you’re getting yourself into trouble, as usual.”

She feigned shock.

“Me? Never.”

He shook his head, a smile on his lips.

“C’mon, John, let’s go dance. I’m bored of sitting around.”

He grinned, happy to oblige her.

“Since you insist.”

She led him downstairs, into the thick of the crowd.

They danced and drank and laughed together. His head was swimming and he feared he’d just about overdone it again. He didn’t need to be a drunk mess around her so soon after the last time. If he hadn’t seen her lifestyle for himself, he’d have thought her tolerance witchcraft.

He kissed up her neck, stopping just under her ear.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Cara. The most beautiful woman in this place. Make them all look boring.”

Truthfully, he hadn’t given any of the other women a second look. He didn’t need to, when she was right in front of him. It was something more than her face, more than the money she wore on her body; something emanated from her that was a drug of its own.

She chuckled but the sound wasn’t light or gentle, it was bitter. Her gaze hardened, looking at him with something close to disappointment. His gut twisted.

“There’s no need to insult other women when you compliment me, John.”

He was quick to respond, quick to try take back his words, not wanting to ruin the mood.

“I just meant-“

She smiled, as if reconsidering her harshness.

“I know. And I appreciate the sentiment, but-“ she struggled to find the words. “There’s better ways to word it.”

He ran his hands down her waist, stopping at her hips, thinking over her words. He’d never been challenged on a compliment before.

“You’re right,” he admitted, though he didn’t really understand why it’d offended her so. He kissed her, shifting the mood to lighter territory. “Where’d you learn to be so clever, huh?”

She laughed again, sweeter this time.

“I’ve been called a lot of things, rarely clever."

He kissed her again, once, twice, quick pecks to her lips.

“It’s true.”

She changed into another outfit in Luka’s car, again, and this time John didn’t question it. He just waited on the sidewalk, standing with Luka and his men, smoking cigarettes. He felt like one of them. He thought he should get her a new dress, as pretty as it was. Another one she could keep.

“Come home with me?” he asked when she joined them once more, stealing a drag of his cigarette.

“Of course,” she replied with a smile.

It was becoming a routine.

He could barely keep his hands off of her in the cab. He fucked her on his bed, and it was only after that he noticed she had a new tattoo. A snowflake, on her shoulder. It lay over a spot that was unmarred by scars. It was delicate and black with thin, pretty lines.

“Do you like it? Alex did it for me. I gave him a moon on his wrist."

“Alex?"

She laughed.

“My guitarist. You met on Friday, you don’t remember?”

“I do."

He’d just forgotten the man’s name. It hadn’t seemed important. He traced his thumb over the ink.

“I can give you one, if you’d like.”

He paused.

“A tattoo?”

She turned back to him, taking his hand in her own.

“Yes. You’d look good with them, I think.”

He’d never considered it before.

“Have you given many?”

“Yes. I gave Luka one, too, a scorpion. Took hours.”

“I haven’t noticed it.”

“Oh. That’s because of where it is.”

She looked a little coy. He knew the implication. He didn’t want to talk about her fucking Luka.

“Yes,” he decided. “I want one.”

If Luka had been marked by her, then he certainly would be as well. She seemed like she knew what she was doing.

She grinned, releasing her hold on him.

“Great, do you have a pen?”

“You want to do it now?”

Her eagerness made him nervous.

“Yes, why not? You want to wait?”

Perhaps if he hadn’t drank so much he’d have given it a second thought.

“No, I suppose not."

“Well then, do you have a pen? Black, preferably."

“You’re going to use pen ink? Isn’t that toxic?”

She blinked at him, her expression unreadable.

“No.”

“Well you haven’t died yet, so it must be safe.”

She chuckled, pulling a needle out of her bag, as if she carried one around all the time. Had she expected this was where the night would go?

“I’ll need thread, too.”

Well she wasn’t _that_ prepared, then.

“I don’t have any.”

“An old shirt? I can pull it out.”

Against his better judgment, he found one and watched as she picked out a long thread from a seam. He wouldn’t admit it but watching his expensive shirt be used this way made his heart catch a little.

“Pass me your lighter."

He fished one out of his bedside drawer. She passed the flame over the needle, sterilizing it.

“What do you want?” she asked, winding thread around the needle.

“I don’t know."

“You’re a pilot, yes?"

He’d only had two lessons so far.

“Not quite.”

“You will be, though. Let’s give you a plane."

She drew the outline of a small plane on the back of his arm. It was a strange place for a first tattoo. Hardly professional, but his sleeves would hide it. She cracked open the top of the pen, being careful not to spill it onto the sheets, and dipped the needle in the ink.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

She smiled.

“No turning back now."

She brought the needle to his arm and traced it over her drawing. Ink, prick, repeat. It barely even hurt.

“Where did you learn to do this?"

She smiled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?"

He just shook his head, knowing not to push her for answers.

She pricked a little too hard and he hissed in pain, trying not to flinch away for risk of ruining it.

“Sorry.”

She wiped away a drop of blood with her thumb and continued.

“It’s alright. Wasn’t on purpose, at least I hope not,” he joked.

“I’d never hurt you on purpose,” she promised, placing a kiss above a scar on his shoulder, and he felt her smirk against his skin. “Unless you wanted me too.”

 

~~

She wiped away the excess ink once she was finished.

“It looks good! Would be better with more. Could have a whole sleeve, eventually.”

He went to look in the mirror. He did like the way it sat against his skin. His parents would hate it, and the thought brought a childish smirk to his lips.

“Could you show me how?” he asked.

“You want to give me one?"

He hesitated. He didn’t want to ruin her. But it was tempting, so tempting.

“Yes,” he said, his favourite word. “Yes, I’d like that."

She laughed, the sound gentle, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You’re too drunk right now, but another time, sure.” She kissed the side of his mouth. “Luka said we’ll be here longer than he thought. A few more weeks, at least.”

He knew he was stupid letting a girl that would be gone soon leave a permanent mark on his flesh, but he didn’t care. He wanted something to remember her by.

“I hope longer than that. I could get used to having you around.”

She smirked.

“I hope for your sake it isn’t.”

He frowned, brushing his hand across her cheek.

“Don’t say things like that.”

She gave him a small, almost pitying smile.

“Okay,” she said, leaning up to kiss him.

 _Stay_ , he wanted to say, wanted to take advantage of the little time she’d promised him. But he didn’t. He knew she wouldn’t. Instead, he kissed her at the door, smoothing her dress back into place, noticing small holes in the fabric at the waist.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Wednesday?” he asked.

“Can’t. Have things to do. Friday, maybe.”

She smiled at him, and he kissed her. She left soon after, and he wasn’t glad to see her go.

The next day, his colleague invited him to a dinner party he was hosting on Friday evening, the same colleague who’d wanted to seduce Cara. He told him he was free to bring someone, too. He knew exactly who he had in mind. He thought of surprising him with her, showing up at his house, but didn’t want to sabotage his career for the humor of it.

“Mark,” he began, biting his cheek to stop the smirk from growing. “There is someone I’d like to bring.”

“Yes?”

“You’re familiar with her, actually.”

He furrowed his brow, thinking of their mutual friends.

“She’s a singer, at this bar downtown. Bit of a shithole, really, but-“

“You bastard! You’re fucking her?”

He laughed.

“That’s a classy way to word it.”

“Fuck. Bring her along, if you like. Maybe I’ll steal her, when the wife isn’t looking.”

John shook his head at that, smirk still tugging on his lips, a familiar combination of disgust and amusement stirring in his gut. Who said family values were dead. He’d agreed instantly, much faster than John had thought; now he just had to ask Cara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t tattoo yourself/someone else with pen ink; it is toxic. also it'll look bad if you don’t know what you’re doing. cara stupid as hell


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS its been a while lmao  
> sorry rip  
> content warning for gun violence

It took days to put together a dossier of Luka’s activities, hours of pouring over texts and papers and digging through his mind for anything incriminating. He wished the man himself could answer for his sins, but at least he could try to take down those around him.

He carefully curated the documents, removing any connections to himself, his work and the Rome project. It was inevitable Cara had some involvement, but he kept her as a victim, not a perp. The feds could get Luka’s people on drug and human trafficking, if they could find them. He knew it would take time for them to act on the information, but he hoped they would. Maybe if he could take down whatever was scaring her Cara could come back to him, or if something had happened to her, no other girl would be in her position. He had this last piece of faith in the world that something would happen, that justice would be served.

He was actually surprised the police hadn’t treated him with more suspicion. He knew from his studies that boyfriends were usually the first suspect. Bitterly, he knew the money he’d given them had kept them at bay, and would continue to do so.

He settled back into life at the office, Cara constant embers in the back of his mind.

Gradually, his colleagues pitying gazes subsided, and they again became caught up in their own stresses.

He turned down invitations for drinking, knowing those nights usually ended up with picking up girls or the strip club, if not both, and the idea of either filled him with guilt. But he couldn’t stave off his colleagues other requests forever.

They wanted him to join them for dinner at their houses, a ritual that they carried out every month or so. Knowing he was alone, their offers only became more frequent. Eventually, he relented.

It was strange to be there without Cara. They tiptoed around the topic of his missing lover, focusing on other news. Big cases at the office, promotions, politics, and all the rest.

After an awkward silence, the hosts’ wife turned to him.

“So, John,” she began and he knew where this was going. “Have you had any news on Cara?”

Everyone halted mid-bite, forks pausing their scraping at porcelain, eyes on him. His heart clenched in his chest, but he maintained his composure.

“No.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing so far.”

Her frown deepened and she looked at him with pity, nodding to herself.

“I’m sure something will come up soon.”

No one believed her words.

Worse still, later in the evening the host drew him aside, away from the others.

“So, John, I hate to say this to you,” he said, pouring whiskey for the both of them. “But you need to sort yourself out.”

He bit back his anger as rage flared in his gut.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

“I don’t mean to offend you,” he said quickly at his steely expression, “But Cara’s clearly got you all fucked up. We’ve given you time, but it’s been months. And it’s affecting your work."

He passed a glass and he took it, gritting his jaw.

“My girlfriend’s dead or kidnapped, and your telling me you’re concerned about my _work_.”

“Or she left you. Either way she’s gone. I’m trying to look out for you. The boss is only going to give you so much more space.”

He clutched the glass until it might shatter under his grip. But he reigned his anger back in. It wouldn’t be useful, here.

“Thanks.”

“C’mon, John. You’ve lost weight and you look like you haven’t slept in weeks. We all like to party but you’ve been taking it too far.”

His spare hand curled into a fist. Sure, he’d been keeping up with his habits, but he’d hardly been partying. He hadn’t even been to a club since she’d left.

“She was clearly a bad influence, you’re better-.”

“Mark, If I were you I wouldn’t finish that sentence.”

The man swallowed, shrinking away from the measured rage in his tone and John revelled in his fear. He wanted to make him hurt. To beat him up like he’d beat Luka, but he knew his wrath was partly unwarranted.

Reluctantly, he unclenched his fist, downed the drink and left without explanation. It took a lot of convincing, but three weeks later the man was fired.

~~Past~~  
He thought about how he should invite Cara. He wasn’t sure if he should bring her at all, honestly, even though he’d already asked Mark. She wasn’t like his colleagues wives and girlfriends. He wasn’t sure if she even would want to go. Eventually, he decided to just call her.

“John. What’s up?”

She sounded sleepy.

“What are you doing this Friday?”

“Why do you ask?”

“One of my colleagues is having this thing, at his house. A dinner party.”

There was a pause. He heard his heartbeat.

“…And you want to bring me?”

“Is that so surprising? I want to show you off.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll embarrass you in front of them?”

That wasn’t the response he was expecting.

“No? Why would- Look, you don’t have to come if you-“

“No, I would,” she interrupted, clearing her throat. "I’d be delighted to, John.”

“Great. Swing by my place at six.” He paused, adding with a grin. “I’ll buy you a dress.”

She laughed.

“Okay. I look forward to it, truly.”

~~

In the meantime, he thought about how he would talk to his boss about Luka.

Then, he heard a rumour of a project they might be associated with. A real-estate development. Out of all the places it could be, it was Rome. His childhood home. Sometimes he wanted to burn the whole place himself, let the ashes scatter in the wind. Other times, he wanted nothing more than to return. To go back to that time. For all the pain, at least he had had his family. At least he wasn’t alone.

He sat down with his boss, game-face on. He told him that he'd found another source of funding for the Rome development. It’d make it less risky to take on.

“I don’t know, John. We’ve got better projects lined up, in the city.”

“I’m not talking about just this one project. This guy’s the real deal. If we do this, we could have years of future business. He could take us to the next level.”

So maybe he was exaggerating a little, but this was important to him. He could scarcely put into words why, but it felt urgent somehow, like Rome was a beacon, calling him home.

He sighed.

“I’ll consider it, but only because I trust you. How soon can you set up a meeting?”

John grinned. He knew he had him.

~~

He bought her a new dress, a blue garment that toed the line between formal and casual.

She glided over to the table, suppressing a growing smile. Her excitement pleased him.

She pulled it out of the bag and gasped.

“Oh John, it’s gorgeous.”

She ran her fingers over the luxurious material.

“You shouldn’t have,” her smile widened. “But I’m most glad you did.”

“Go on. Put it on.”

She did, placing her other clothes in a pile on the table.

She twirled, laughing as she went. She was radiant. His heart swelled with joy.

“Perfect.”

She stopped, biting her lip as she looked back at him. He cleared his throat. There was a conversation they had to have before they left.

“Cara. Before we go, I-“

She walked up to him, fondling the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down to her height to peck his lips.

“I won’t mention Luka, or the drugs, or anything. Don’t worry.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“They’ll want to get to know you.”

“And what sorts of stories would you want me to tell?”

He hadn’t really considered it.

“I don’t know.”

She chewed on her lip.

“Who do you want me to be?”

“Yourself!” he said, studying her. "Just without, well, you know.”

She nodded.

“Okay. I’ll come up with something, then."

“Good. Oh, and there’s something else,” he began, biting his lip to suppress a grin. "The host, Mark, he’s the one that wanted to seduce you.”

She laughed, shaking her head.

“Now this is interesting."

He kissed her once more before pulling away, leading her to his car. They drove towards Mark's place. John swore at the drivers that cut him off while Cara laughed beside him.

“What, you think this is funny? That asshole just- Hey, stop laughing.”

“Yes, John, I do think it’s funny.”

He couldn’t help but smile, too, at her laughter, his anger mostly dissipating by the time she faded to silence.

He felt Cara’s eyes on him.

“What am I to you, John? How are you to introduce me?”

Friend. Lover. He wasn’t sure. He thought about where he wanted this to go for a long moment. She’d said she was going to leave soon. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He wanted this to be more.

“I want you to accompany me, as my girlfriend.”

She paused.

“Is that what you want me to be?”

“Yes,” he decided, laying his hand on her thigh. "If that’s who you want to be?”

“Of course, it’s just…”

She looked down at his hand.

“What?”

She looked back at him, biting her lip.

“I’m not staying here long.”

“You’ve said,” he sighed. “I want to make the most of our time, regardless of how long we have.”

She chewed on her lip.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You could have anyone you wanted.”

He laughed.

“So could you.”

She smiled and he swore she looked almost bashful.

“I’m what you want? Truly?”

He squeezed her thigh.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Lots of women are beautiful. Why would you limit yourself to one?”

His eyes flickered back to her. She was studying him carefully, suspiciously, even.

“I’ve never met anyone like…” he trailed off. “We understand each other. We share something that other people don’t have.”

“You think we’re the same."

“Not quite, but-“

“Close,” she said, cutting him off. "Closer than anyone you’ve met.”

“Yes.”

She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I’ve never been someone’s girlfriend before."

He’d tried, in college, some pretty thing from a good family. She’d left him once she got sick of him cheating. But this would be different. He’d be better this time.

She was his now, at least temporarily. He didn’t consider that meant he was hers, too, and neither did she.

Just as they were drawing close to the house, she reached a hand into her bra, pulling out a small bag of cocaine.

“Do you want a bump?”

He hesitated, wondering if this was really the best idea. Fuck it, he decided. It was only a little. If anything, it would just make them more charismatic.

“Yes.”

~~

He knocked on the front door, Cara on his arm.

“John!” Mark greeted them, a drunken smile on his face. “This must be Cara. He’s told me all about you.”

She chuckled,

“Good things, yes?”

He laughed.

“It’s nice to finally speak to you. I’ve seen you at that bar a few times.”

“You’ve met before?” his wife asked from behind him.

She was beautiful. Thick, heavy pearls draped around her neck; a figure-hugging dress on her body. John didn’t have to ask why he would cheat on her; he already knew the reason to be Greed.

“I dragged him along with me to the bar, when I was too shy to talk to her,” John said. "He’s the one that encouraged me.”

He laughed, thankful for the cover up.

There were three other couples there, all similar in status. They were all older than John and Cara, but not much so. The hosts were the oldest, in their mid thirties.

They ate appetisers around the kitchen counter, drinking fine wine. It was a standard affair; cheese, prosciutto, grapes. The place looked straight out of a magazine spread. They focused conversation on her, the foreign element here, but she kept redirecting it to the others.

“Those are some interesting tattoos,” Mark said to her.

She looked down at the Wrath and Pride on her hands and smiled at him sheepishly.

“I was wild when I was young.”

“Something tells me you’re still wild.”

She laughed.

“I’m a good girl now, truly."

Jealousy twisted in his gut, but he pushed his Envy away.

~~

They sat around the dinner table. Based on the spread, and the decorations, they were hosting to impress.

“...but that was our last vacation, when we were in the Hamptons.”

“Well, Louise and I were thinking of getting a yacht. It might be nice in the summer.”

John tried not to shake his head at that.

“You’d be better with a sports car in Georgia, no? Or a plane,” joked Cara.

They laughed. The excessiveness of it all disgusted him, but he couldn’t help lust after their life all the same. He hated himself for it; the duality of wanting to both treasure and burn this world.

Cara lied effortlessly about herself and if he listened closely it sounded rehearsed. She told them she was from Brooklyn, but educated in an international school in Switzerland. That she’d come to Atlanta for a change of scenery. John wondered why she hadn’t fabricated such a story to him.

“I thought you might be European.”

“My mother is from France.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No, I have not had the pleasure.”

“I love a French girl,” Mark said, a sleazy smile on his face.

“Mon français est très mal, je regrette.”

“Like honey in my ears.”

Cara laughed.

“That doesn’t sound pleasant, truly."

The others joined her in her laughter.

“Cara if I knew you were this charming I would’ve had John invite you around earlier."

~~  
The night went on, John beginning to grow bored of the endless talking, endless flaunting of wealth and status.

“You know, Cara, there’s one thing I don’t get about you,” Mark began.

“Yes?” she said, weary.

“Why are you at that bar? You’re too good for a shithole like that.”

She shrugged.

“It suits me.”

He sat forward in his seat, wine glass in hand, slushing on the sides.

"Hell, you don’t even need a voice these days, just a pretty face. You could be famous.”

She chuckled, but John thought she sounded nervous.

“I don’t want to be famous.”

“‘Course you do. Think of the money!”

She leaned forward to match him.

“You know what I would want, more than money?” she began, and John desperately wanted to know. “Anonymity.” She smiled. “Besides, if I need money, I can just date John instead.”

She placed her hand on his thigh, under the table. He covered it with his own and she entwined her fingers through his. They laughed, but there was a shift in the air.

They moved the topic from her back to themselves, and for once John was thankful for it. He zoned out while Cara fiddled with his hands, her fingers soft against his.

“…when John joined the firm."

“Why did you move to Atlanta?” she asked him.

“I like the city."

“But why Atlanta?"

His voice was soft.

“It’s close to Rome, where I was born."

She furrowed her brow.

“But Rome is in Italy?"

They chuckled.

“It’s also a town, northwest of here.”

She smiled, looking down. “Ah, I did not know.”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and she looked up at him, cheeks a little flushed. She was cute when she blushed, he decided. He wanted to kiss her, but it wasn’t the time.

The night carried on much the same, drawing to a close in the early morning. They hugged goodbye at the door, Mark holding her for a moment too long, his hand travelling an inch too low. John didn’t stop him.

~~

He drove her back to his place, even though his head was still full of liquor.

“I didn’t know you spoke French."

“I don’t. I only know bits and pieces. I tried to learn in class but I don’t have the patience for it.”

“I can’t imagine you in school.”

She smirked.

“I was a terrible student.”

He laughed. She reclined in the seat, tucking her feet under her.

“Do you like me better like that?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Like what?”

“Like one of those men’s wives."

“No,” he said, frowning, grabbing her thigh. "I like you wild."

She gave a breathy laugh, reaching her hand down her dress and pulling out a blunt.

He laughed,

“Just how many drugs did you stuff down your bra?”

Her lips pulled into a smile.

“Enough.”

She brought it to her lips.

“Lighter?” she mumbled.

He passed his to her.

“You know, I fucking hate rich people,” she said, sparking it up.

“You hate me?”

She smirked.

“Not yet."

He was almost offended but the mischievous glimmer in her eyes warmed his heart. She took a drag and passed it over to him. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t always like this, that he’d been born into poverty, that he hated them much more than she, but the desire to be so honest felt strange.

“You told some interesting stories tonight.”

“I hate to lie,” she said. “But sometimes it is necessary."

“You can tell me, you know. The real story.”

She smirked.

“But that’s part of the fun, no? To have a secret.”

“Maybe at first, but I want to know you, the real you."

She rested her hand on his thigh, languidly travelling across it.

"But you are hiding things from me, too, John.”

He didn’t really know how to respond to that. His scars on his back burned. They drifted back into silence, and John started to feel much too high to be driving, but they were only minutes away.

“Stop here, I want dessert,” Cara said as they passed an ice cream place, even though they’d already eaten.

“Yes, ma’am,” he joked, thankful for a change in conversation.

He found parking a block away. The streets were quite empty for a Friday night. They walked to the shop, laughing together. They sat at the tables outside, shared each others, trying to avoid dripping ice cream on their garments. She licked stray cream off of his lips.

They walked back to the car, laughing together.

“Give me your fucking wallet!”

They looked up to see a skinny, pale boy, gun pointed at them. He was a tweaker. His face was sweaty, from nerves or withdrawals.

John looked to his left and right. There had to be someone around, some witness, someone to call the cops, but the few bystanders hurried away.

He was terrified and the weed only heightened his fear. He tried to clear his head, to will himself to sobriety, but to no avail. It had been a long time since he had tasted real fear, felt it flooding his veins. Cara was calm beside him, amused, even.

“I said give me you’re fucking wallet!”

He reacted then, hand moving to his pocket, but Cara stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“Go on then. Do it!” She yelled.

“Cara, don’t-“

“Shut up, John,” she hissed.

He looked between them, confused, hands shaking.

“Fucking kill me, pussy.”

“I’ll do it!”

She smirked.

"Have you ever even fired a gun? You know how to, yes?”

She released her hold on John.

"You just aim,” she said, enclosing her hands around the pistol and holding it to her chest. John was paralysed beside her, watching with wide eyes. "And pull the trigger.” He went to say something, to form his fear into words, but before he could-

"Bang!” she yelled and he flinched. She was lucky the boy didn’t fire it in shock.

“Your wallet!" he said after a moment. She laughed.

“If you were going to shoot us, you would have done so already.”

He shifted his weight between his toes.

“Get out of here,” she told him, eyes wide- not with fear, but purpose.

“You-“

“Go!” she yelled again.

To his surprise he did, turning and running in the opposite direction.

John turned to her, holding her shoulders, as if to shake some sense into her.

“What the fuck, Cara!”

She let out a relieved gasp.

“You could have gotten us killed!”

She laughed, a breathy happiness to the sound.

“You have to taste death to feel alive, John."

He pulled out his phone, shaking his head, but she covered her hand with his.

"We have to call the police."

"He’s just a kid, John.”

He looked at her in confusion.

"He probably needed the money more than we did. Could have taken it, too, if he’d been brave enough to pull the trigger.”

“What-"

She looked away, in thought, and there was a darkness in her eyes.

"Do you think you would’ve been? Brave enough?"

Fear crept up on him again.

“I…”

She bit her lip, furrowed her brow.

“Of course, his fear did save his soul.”

“Cara…”

She looked back at him and squeezed his hands, shaking her head quickly as if to clear it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, John.”

He sighed.

“It’s okay. Let’s just get home.”

“You probably shouldn’t drive,” she decided, running her hand across his cheek. “We’re close, yes? Let’s just walk.”  
~~~

They walked to the apartment in silence, still shaken up. His mind was running. _How the fuck could she react like that?_ He got the sense that there might be something very wrong with Cara.

He poured them red wine when they got in, to calm their nerves.

"Have you ever seen a man be shot?” she asked, sitting on the countertop.

"No… you have?”

He feared her answer.

"Once, when I was a child…”

She stood suddenly, floating over to where she’d left her bag, pulling out the gun she kept there. She turned it over in her hands and he stood immediately, accidentally knocking over his glass of wine so the liquid rolled off the table and pooled on the floor.

"My father… he had a gun, just like this one… well, much larger, but…”

His fear blossomed again. He both dreaded and hung on each word. He wanted to know everything about her, though he worried what it might entail.

"One day, I snuck into his office. I stole the revolver, from the desk where he kept it.”

He felt his heartbeat in his ears.

"I played a game with the children who lived nearby. Would you like to play this game with me?"

“No,” he said, the word bitter and heavy on his tongue. “Cara, put the gun down.”

She ignored him, walking away as he leaned forward to wrench it out of her hands. She laughed as he gave chase.

"We sat, in a circle, by the fire, all four of us. I emptied the chamber except for one bullet.” She did as she said, placing the bullets onto an end table as she passed it.

“Cara, stop!”

She laughed again, spinning the chamber. Her expression soured as she stopped suddenly, whipping around and holding the gun to her temple.

"I held the gun up to my head.” Her hands shook, and she lowered it and he exhaled in relief. “And then I pulled the trigger. And it clicked. We passed it around, each having a turn."

He knew where this was going.

"It got to Nina’s young sisters turn. There was blood everywhere. It was awful. The stain never came out of the carpet.”

He looked on in horror.

"She lived, actually. A miracle. Otherwise I’m not sure the Lord would ever have forgiven me. But she never was the same."

“Fuck,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to. He almost wished this tale was fabricated, like the ones from earlier, but some sick part of her liked that she was sharing this confession with him. He’d said he wanted to know the real her.

“It didn’t stop me playing, though.” She ran her hand over the gun, turning it in her hand. “Each time, I didn’t die.” She held it back up to her temple again.  
When he’d found her gun, he’d never thought it was for shooting herself.

“Cara, put it down!”

She took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. It clicked. She gasped in relief, through heavy breaths, a wide smile creeping up her features.

“That is how I can know there is a God. He lets me live each time."

“You’re fucking crazy! What the hell was-”

She held it at him.

“You have your own madness, too, locked behind those pretty blue eyes. I can see it.”

His head swirled with drugs and liquor and confusion. He was different than most, he knew that, had always known that, but this was too far.

“Stop it."

"You think we are the same. That is why you have pursued me, no? Show me you are the same."

She passed him the gun. He thought back to when he’d choked her, on instinct. Was that madness? He didn’t know.

“No!”

"You have to face it, like a beast. You cannot face it while it is caged!”

She ranted and raved, her eyes wide and enchanting. He wanted to block out the words, but part of him hung on them. He wanted to drown himself in her strange energy, in her life, to feel as she did. To be as brave as her.

“Cara, stop!"

“You are scared, good,” she smiled, soothing him with kind eyes, "It is good to be scared. It brings you alive.”

He needed a moment, to stop, to think through this, to be in control. His head was spinning.

“What the fuck!”

“You can do it, John. Conquer your fear. Conquer death!”

She curled her fingers over his and held the gun to his temple.

His heart beat so fast it felt like it could leap from his chest.

He closed his eyes.

He pulled the trigger.

All of the air left his lungs.

The gun clicked.

He took gasping, straining breaths. His head fell forward, leaning against her neck. She clutched his hair, the back of his neck, shushing him with kisses.

“I knew you could do it, John,” she said and he could hear her Pride. “God protects you, too.”

She took the gun from his hands, put it aside, and wrapped her arms around him. Her lips went to his, urgent and insisting, and he answered her in turn. She was right, he felt more alive than ever. She led him to the floor, straddling him. He tore off her underwear and had her there, fucking like animals.

 _This is lust_ , he thought.

Panting and sweating in the afterglow, he ran his hand through her damp hair.

“What are you, Cara?” he asked, but found no reply.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major content warning for drug use, more than usual lol, and descriptions of child abuse/neglect & self harm.
> 
> This chapter was actually the first one i wrote literally a billion years ago now, glad i finally caught up to it. also,, similar ideas to a tumblr post i saw?? but i wasnt inspired by it just a coincidence lol

John felt like shit after the dinner party without her, after his co-worker had the gall to embarrass him like that, to call his work into question. He felt lonely, and worse, foolish.

He reinvigorated himself in his work, felt a strange, welcome energy in his veins. A renewed passion to succeed. All the things he wanted- money, status, power- started to sparkle again and with it, Cara’s light started to dim. Who knew where she was. She could be fucking some other man in some other city. He was John Fucking Duncan. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need her.

He started going out with his colleagues again to upscale places to drown himself in champagne and women.

He could deny it all he wanted, but as much as he tried to put Cara out of mind he was still searching. Searching for echoes of her in women, vodka, snow, heroin. In blood and held breaths, bruises on skin under his fingertips, a life in his hands. Sometimes, in the liquor-drenched darkness, he could pretend the girl beneath him was her and maybe he’d believe it. And this night was no different.

He buried himself inside the woman, scraping his teeth against her neck.

“Cara,” he moaned.

“What did you call me?”

He wasn’t going let Cara embarrass him without her even being present.

“It's Italian.”

She smirked.

“So you’re a foreign boy, then? How exotic.”

He threw up in his mouth a little, but continued regardless, fucking her into the mattress.

When he finished he kicked the girl out and stumbled to the bathroom, his head swimming with alcohol.

“What a fucking gentleman,” she muttered under her breath, giving him a death stare, but he paid her no mind.

He cleaned himself off and glanced in the mirror, looking himself in the eye. Then came the guilt. Cara was god knows where and he was wasting time. She could be hurt, scared, hoping to be rescued and he was fucking nobodies from the club. He needed to atone, atone for his lust. He grabbed the straight razor from its spot on the counter, held it in his shaking hand, pressed it to his skin. He imagined the blood that would bloom and stream down his flesh like teardrops. With a sigh he put it back down. He wanted to get away from this, from his parents, from his past. Not embrace it.

 

~~Past~~

He wasn’t sure what to think after her insanity. And his, too, he thought, closing his eyes against the memories of that night. She’d left soon after they’d slept together. He knew it would be wise to end it with her, to cut her out of his life, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Despite all the madness, he found himself wanting to know more, experience more. To unravel all the dark parts of her.

But then she’d cancelled their next date, told him Luka needed something. John put his frustration aside and went about the day as normal. It was an important day, after all. It was Luka’s first meeting with his boss. Only, Luka wasn’t going. His accountant was in his stead.

Nervous anticipation crept up his veins, like electricity on his skin. He rubbed his hands together, took a deep breath and walked into the room.

And it went perfectly. He thrived in the meeting. Luka’s accountant knew just what to say whenever suspicious questions were asked and his boss was none the wiser of any unscrupulous activity.

Only after that was finished did he allow himself to feel disappointed that he wouldn’t be seeing Cara tonight. After all, the smoother things went with Luka, the less time she’d likely have in the city.

He had the afternoon off, so he booked a flight lesson, and being in the air brought him clarity in the exhilaration. He was so thankful to her, for encouraging him to try it.

He texted a few of the guys in the office to go out for drinks, but everyone was caught up in other plans. But just as he’d resigned to call the night a failure, he got a call.

“Hey, it’s me,” came Cara's soft voice. "I finished early, do you want me to come over?”

“Yes."

“I’ll be there in ten,” she said, hanging up before he could reply.

~~  
She came as she said she would, showing up just as he managed to make himself look a little more presentable.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her waist, breathing in her signature scent, the notes of cinnamon flooding his senses. He’d grown quite fond of it.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay.”

He meant it, but he didn’t want this to become a habit. Maybe it was Envy but he wanted to come first.

“And I’m sorry if I went too far last time,” she said, chewing on her lip. “I think I had a reaction to the weed or something. I’m a little… much sometimes, but usually not to that extent."

He hesitated before speaking. She'd scared him, but also intrigued him immensely. She was certainly unlike anyone else.

“Let’s just not do it again.”

“I just don’t want you to feel forced into anything, John.” She took his hands. “Everything is your choice, yes?”

“Yes,” he repeated, because she looked like she was waiting for him too.

She smiled.

“I heard you did well in your meeting today,” she said, winding her arms around his neck. "Luka’s celebrating at the club. You want to head down?”

“Sure."

~~

Cara stopped in Luka’s car to change, a man waiting for her beside it with the keys. John tried to insist she didn’t need to, but she told him Luka would be offended if she didn’t.

She led him to a different part of the building, the roof. There was a swimming pool in the centre, with glistening water, lit up by spotlights. Luka swam around in his underwear, joined by a group of girls. He was so thin you could count his ribs. Peaking out of his boxers was a tattoo of a scorpion. He wondered if that was the one Cara had given him.

“John! Come join us, the water’s fine,” he said, laughing as he splashed Ioana, the girl that’d been offered to him.

Cara didn’t do water, he remembered.

“Maybe later."

Instead, they collapsed in a lounge and shared drinks and conversation with some of his men.

“Cara,” Luka called after a while, pulling himself out of the pool and sitting in the seat across from them, dripping water everywhere. He gestured to a black messenger bag. “Take this downstairs. Paulie’s waiting for you.”

She looked between him and John and nodded.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” She gave John a chaste kiss and stood up. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“We will,” Luka answered for him, lighting up a cigarette and watching her as she walked away. He gave the other few men a pointed look and they left, too, retreating to other seats.

John turned back to him, wondering why he’d wanted to speak to him alone.

“So, Cara tells me she’s your girlfriend now.”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised. You don’t seem the type.”

He got the sense Luka was trying to insult him, something he usually wouldn’t tolerate.

“And what type do I seem?”

“Not one to want to limit yourself. Guess I read you wrong.”

He felt uncomfortable under his gaze and narrowed his eyes at his smug expression. He cleared his throat.

“I guess you did.”

Luka coughed into his free palm, a wet, lurching sound.

“I like you John, so I’m going to let you know,” he began, leaning forward in his seat like he was about to impart some great wisdom. "This probably won't go the way you want it to.”

“And how, exactly, do you think I want it to go?”

Luka smirked.

“Well, you fucking clearly want it to go somewhere, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have introduced her to your friends."

“True,” he admitted, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. Cara talked to Luka like a parrot, reporting on what they did. A less cynical part of him told him that she hung around him often, and it wasn’t unreasonable to think that she kept him updated on her life. Maybe she was just excited.

“Cara doesn’t do well in this sort of thing,” he said, taking a drag, like he was supposed to know what that meant. "She’s, uh, fragile.”

“Fragile,“ he repeated, becoming irritated. He wasn’t sure if Luka was being genuine, or possessive, or something else.

“Yeah. You know. Easily broken,” he said and chuckled at something to himself.

“What-"

“Speak of the devil,” he said, gesturing to Cara with his cigarette as she walked over to them, nervousness in her gait. “Hey, kid, everything went well?”

“Of course, Luka.”

She slid into the seat next to John, giving him a small smile.

“Hey.”

He looked her over, brushing her hair behind her ear, eyes flickering over the new scar at her temple. She _was_ fragile, flighty, even. Especially in Luka’s presence. He couldn’t see how that affected him wanting to date her.

“Hey,” he said back, finally, leaning in to kiss her. It felt like a show of power in front of Luka and some petty part of him delighted in that.

“I’ll leave you two be, then,” Luka said, standing up and tossing his cigarette on the floor.

They watched as he ran and dived into the water, the girls laughing as the water splashed them.

“Do you want to go dance?” John asked and her eyes lit up.

“I’d love to."

She led John downstairs, to the dance floor, and then after a time to the lounges in the VIP area, where he kissed her until he could scarcely contain himself.

“I want to take you home.”

“Then take me,” she laughed, baring her neck as he peppered kisses on her flesh.

It was an early end, but a pleasing one, and she nestled in close on the taxi ride home.

They tangled between his sheets and he clung onto her in the afterglow, content to breathe in her presence.

He kissed the fresh scar at her temple and ran his thumb over the skin under her breast, felt her ribs under his fingertips, more prominent than they’d been only weeks before. He tossed over mentioning it in his mind, knowing asking a woman about her weight wasn’t exactly polite, but concern festered.

“You’re getting skinny, Cara. Are you alright?”

She shifted beside him.

“I couldn’t eat, with my throat.”

His heart dropped.

“The bruises are gone. Is it better?”

She shrugged.

“Mostly. My voice is still kind of fucked up but I try not to strain it, apart from when I sing at the bar.”

He frowned, running his hand up and down her side.

“You could take more time off.”

She bit down on her lip.

“Maybe. Thankfully, it doesn’t hurt to eat anymore."

“We’ll have to make up for it, then."

“Mhm, a few more late night ice cream trips should do it.”

He chuckled nervously, remembering the events from before.

She shifted again, chewing on her lip, and he could tell something was bothering her. Just as he was about to ask her to just say it, whatever it was, she spoke.

“John, can I ask you something you might be unwilling to share?”

“Depends on the question.”

She smiled at his coyness, something that was usually reserved for her.

“Of course. I ask with curiosity, not… anything else."

She trailed her hand up and down his bare leg.

"Your parents didn’t feed you right, did they?"

He tensed immediately under her touch, emotions rushing through him like ice water. Shock. Embarrassment. Shame.

He’d invited such questioning, by asking her, but he never could have guessed it would go this way.

If she could tell, then who else could? Who had given him pitying stares behind his back? Known his story without him ever telling it?

As if sensing his fears she added, voice gentle and reassuring,

“Don’t worry, no one else would know."

His voice was but a whisper as he replied,  
“Then how do you?"

She let out a small chuckle, entirely inappropriate for the situation, and threaded her hand through his.

“Mine didn’t either."

He released his held breath, deflating at the comfort the words brought.

"You like to touch the scars on my back, but you never noticed, did you?"

“Noticed what?”

“The way it curves, as your leg does."

She released his hand and turned to show him her back, moving her hair over to one side. His fingertips ghosted over her spine and now that she’d pointed it out he could notice the way it curved, just a little. Subtle, but there.

“Mine couldn’t afford to,” he admitted and she didn’t seem that surprised, which irritated him. As foolish as it sounded, he wanted her to think he’d always had wealth. That he’d been born into extravagance, when in reality that couldn’t be further from the truth. He didn’t remember much of the first years of his life, but he remembered hunger. And all the things his brothers tried to ease it. Sneaking him food, going without so he could have more, stealing when the cupboards were bare and things got desperate. His heart ached at the memories, his eyes welled with tears, but he blinked them back. “Could yours?” he asked, when she didn’t respond.

“Yes. My parents had the means to provide food. They denied it."

A chill passed through him, coupled with rage. A fierce hatred for someone he’d never met.

“Why?"

"As punishment."

He didn’t know what to say. What could he ever say that could comfort her? He wasn’t prideful enough to believe that his words could help. But he needed to say something, and a part of him was glad that she’d felt that she could share this with him. She’d been nothing but reticent since he’d met her.

“Oh. That’s… that’s awful, Cara, I’m sorry. You didn’t- No child deserves that.”

She bit her lip, saying nothing.

“Did they keep you inside, too?” he asked her.

“As much as they could. They weren’t fond of me running wild. Why do you ask?”

“Lack of sunlight in childhood can cause your bones to not develop properly.”

He was told that, rather than food, was the main culprit. His birth father had kept him mostly confined to the house, reluctant to even send his children to school.

“I thought you were a lawyer, not a doctor,” she said with a smirk.

He frowned and ran a fingertip down her spine; he knew she was trying to deflect, even though she’d been the one to bring it up.

“Does it hurt?”

“Does yours?”

“Not anymore."

He’d been to doctors. Braved their pitying stares for treatment.

She took a moment to respond and if he could see her face he’d find it weary. Sad, with only the hint of envy.

“I’m glad,” she said finally.

“But yours does,” he guessed and he knew he was right.

“It could be worse."

His chest tightened at the words. He kissed his way up her spine, stopping at the junction with her shoulder.

“Have you seen a doctor about it?"

“I don’t have insurance,” she said, quietly.

“I’ll pay."

She pulled away, turning back to face him.

“John, I-"

He reached for her hands and she let him take them.

“I don’t want you hurt. I want to take care of you, Cara."

She frowned, looking down at them. Joined, together.

“I know.” Her eyes flitted to his as he brought their hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “I’ll think about it."

As he drew her into an embrace he wondered why it was so hard for her to just say yes. She had accepted gifts from him, even demanded some. Why was this any different?

And he thought, too, about how impossibly much they shared. Shared scars, shared trauma. He wanted to tell her everything, pour out all his sins and the sins that’d been done to him and see what she mirrored back.

Then, her phone rang, jolting them apart with its sudden, loud call. She looked up at him. He gestured for her to answer it. She rose, retrieving it from her bag and walking to the balcony. She returned a few minutes later.

“Was it Luka?”

“No. One of his friends. Wants us to come over to the apartment.”

“Why?”

“They have a bunch of drugs they're willing to share.”

He hadn’t met many people before that wanted to share drugs, especially frequent users. He certainly wouldn’t call his friends over if he intended on using a substance, lest he get something out of it, too.

“Coke?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe. I didn’t ask.”

“Let’s go, then,” he said, getting up from the bed.

“You want to?”

“Yes, we might as well.”

It wasn’t like he was going to say no. They re-dressed, adjusted their hair in the mirror, wiped off a bit of smudged eyeliner from Cara’s skin.

~~

They took a taxi to Luka’s apartments. He held her close. It was a familiar route by now, and they walked in hand-in-hand.

He quickly realised it wasn’t coke they were doing.

They were slumped about in the couches. He saw a spoon on the table. Syringes in a box.

“Cara, John, how’s it going?”

“Peachy,” she answered.

He leaned down to her, spoke quietly.

“Is that..?”

“Heroin,” she told him. “You’ve never tried it, have you?”

He remembered her mentioning it on the night they’d met, but he hadn’t been sure whether she was serious.

“No.”

A small smile flittered across her lips. She held his hand in her own, traced her thumb over his knuckles.

“It is my first love."

She turned to him, whispering in his ear.

“We can go, if you want.”

“No,” he decided, bold. “We can stay.”

She watched him carefully, led him to one of the sofas.

“You shouldn’t shoot it. You should rail it.”

“This is his first time?” someone asked.

She smiled at them. John felt small, childish.

“Yes.”

“Damn,” they said.

“Why?” he asked her.

“It’s too much, too good like that.”

He looked at her in confusion.

“I want to feel good."

“Let him try it properly,” said one of the men.

“Cara, it’s okay,” he told her, wrapping his hand around hers.

She sighed and grabbed one of the spoons.

He watched her prepare, with methodical, practiced movements. It reminded him of a ritual, like a priest preparing the Eucharist.

She held the needle to his flesh.

“Are you sure, John?” she said, running her fingertip over the crook of his arm. “Once you try this, nothing will ever come close.”

The idea was as intoxicating as it was frightening.

“Yes.”

She chewed her bottom lip.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Don’t shoot it.”

Something in her eyes was urging, insistent, so he relented.

She prepared him a line, instead, so he railed it and sunk back into bliss.

“Fuck,” he said.

She was right, it was amazing. Like being wrapped in all the warmth of the earth. He wanted to feel like this forever.

She used the needle meant for him, slipping off her shoe and injecting in between her toes. As his eyes struggled to stay open, some lucid part of him wondered how often she did this, to do it so discreetly.

“Thank you,” she said, lying against him, giving a sleepy smile. “For listening to me."

~~

They came back to earth together.

“You are such a bad influence,” he joked. She didn't laugh.

She kissed his jaw.

“It’s your choice, remember?”

He swallowed, her solemn expression unnerving him. He hoped he wouldn’t regret this choice, but he didn’t know how he could ever regret such an amazing feeling.

They went back to his apartment hours later. Sobering up came with the reality of what he’d done. He could hardly believe he’d crossed this line.

She sat draped over him on the sofa, head tucked under his neck. Questions swirled in his mind, louder than before.

“How did you start doing heroin?"

She trailed a languid hand down his chest, teasing the buttons open and closed.

“Luka, a long time ago. He sells coke, but he prefers downers.”

“As do you.”

“Sometimes. It is one of my favourites, in more ways than his.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I like that it kills lust, or at least quietens it.”

He traced his thumb over her clothed hip, over the spot where she had the word written into her flesh.

“Is that a sin you struggle with?”

“Are you asking me to confess to you, John?” she asked with a giggle. He liked the idea of that, of her telling him all of her darkest secrets, bearing her soul to him. "Hm, I like sex, it’s fun. But I’m not particularly lustful, like you, John. Not anymore.”

He wasn’t offended; she was right. If he had to chart his sins, Lust would be near the top. Even just speaking of it while she touched his chest was enough to make him want her.

“I’ve never really understood it, though,” she began, pausing her hand, in thought. “If sex is a sin, then why did God make us so?”

“You could say the same of any sin.”

“Perhaps. But Lust feels different. It is so tied to life, it seems foolish to make it sinful.”

The blasphemy made his scars ache, pulled buried darkness to the forefront of his mind.

"So you just get to decide what are and aren’t sins?” he asked, his voice taking on more of an edge than intended.

She shrugged, seemingly unaffected by his tone.

"I can only guess for myself. I try not to judge other people, so long as they aren’t being too deviant.”

He remembered how she’d reacted at the mere suggestion of laying with a woman. It was hardly what he’d consider non-judgemental. That said, if she was willing to try, then he knew she could change. But that was for another time, so he pushed such thoughts away.

“So, what other sins are yours, then? Greed? Envy?”

She’d certainly appreciated the fine dresses he’d bought her.

“No, not really. Maybe a little, sometimes, but not something I would need to atone for.”

He smirked, unable to help himself, hand travelling lower, resting on the curve of her ass.

“And how do you atone?”

“Don’t say it like that!” she said, eyes wide, but her voice was filled with laughter. He chuckled at her reaction, drawing her closer. She bit her lip and gave him a bashful look. "You know, prayer, or what have you.”

“It’s been a long time since I prayed.”

“Why did you stop?”

His heartbeat picked up. They were encroaching on dangerous territory.

“I didn’t feel the need to anymore, once I moved away from my parents. Prayer, attending church, confession- they were all things I did to please them, not because I wanted to.”

She nodded and didn’t push him further, sensing his discomfort.

“My parents used to make me go to church every week, when I was young. One time, I fell asleep standing up. I went forward, whacked my face on the pew in front of me and knocked out one of my front teeth.”

He laughed with her, glad to move the subject away from himself.

“I got blood all over my new dress. My mother wasn’t even mad with me; she thought I’d fainted. The priest said a prayer for me before we went to the doctor.”

He imagined her as a child, causing a scene in her Sunday best, and the image fit much better than those he’d thought of before. He was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to share a story of her past with him. Though something felt wrong. She spoke of her mother with such fondness, such love in her voice. It wasn’t something he could outright question, not yet, but he couldn’t help but wonder. His heart was filled with deep hatred for his parents; he couldn’t imagine feeling anything else for someone who had hurt him so.

“I used to be bored out of my mind, too, as a child. Though I can’t say I ever actually fell asleep."

“I was talented like that. I also used to try to coerce the priest to give me wine. Of course, I was only eight years old so you can imagine how that went.”

He laughed again. He wouldn’t have dared try that around his parents.

“I’ve always been trouble,” she said, grin on her cheeks, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“The best kind,” he said back, leaning down to place a feathered kiss on the tip of her nose. The melody of her giggles warmed his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> felt like i have to include an additional note to say heroin is obviously really bad!! dont ever do it lmao. but i knew i wanted to include john using in my fic because of that line in the game where he says 'I opened up every hole in my body and when those were filled, I created more.’ and like no one just randomly does heroin. so i wondered how a upper class lawyer got into that without the traditional pain killer route first and thus cara was created


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished new dawn and. ooft that shit hurted.  
> Content warning for references to past abuse & knifeplay

After months of work, the Rome project was complete. His old neighbourhood was completely unrecognisable. Scorched from the earth and replaced with upper middle class families and shopping malls.

Cara coming into his life had been intrinsic to the project; it never would’ve happened without Luka’s funding. He wished he hadn’t contributed, hadn't tainted it with his blood money. He’d corrupted something that was meant to be good. But more than that, John wished Cara was there to see it. See Rome be built into a place worthy of settling down, growing roots.

A few weeks later, he woke one morning and turned on the television as he made coffee, following his usual routine. His eyes flickered over the newsreader, eyes still half-glazed over, and he did a double take.

A man named Jonah and several other individuals had been arrested in Florida for involvement in a human trafficking ring. He turned up the volume, listened closer, suddenly wide awake.

Victims as young as twelve, the newsreader said. Most of them from Romania. The Romanian government even issued a statement.

He had to wonder, had he done this? Had his information helped? He’d never know; he hadn’t given any contact information. It was entirely possible this had nothing to do with him or Luka and those men were still out there. But he hoped not. Did this mean Cara might be safe, if this is what had kept her away from him?

He couldn’t know. It was still a waiting game, and the powerlessness was agonising. Part of him wondered if she’d left for an entirely different reason, if she’d left of her own free will and guilt chewed at his gut.

Still, if his information had helped, that was something to be happy about. Regardless of Cara, he had potentially helped out a lot of women.

But as more time passed without her, he only missed her more, and loneliness was heavy in his heart.

Sure, he was still doing well at work and he could still get any woman he wanted, but with every day that came and went, he felt more hollow. Like something was eating him from the inside.

All leads had dried up so far; he was getting nowhere stuck in this inertia.

So, he decided to do something crazy. He gathered all the money he had, selling off most of his assets and her designer pieces and remaining jewels. And he posted a reward, $500,000. That was what she was worth to him. Luka’s lucrative business had left him with more savings than he’d thought, living the way he did. He wasn’t exactly one for budgeting. He didn’t dare calculate what he’d spent on his vices.

The size of his reward led to an unexpected consequence; the media. He didn’t want to be known for this, for her, but he agreed to one television appearance. If it would help this all be over sooner, he’d do it.

But first, he’d have to tell his parents she was gone, before they found out themselves. Cara had certainly left an impression on them the only time they’d met.

“John! It’s great to hear from you,” came his mother’s voice through the phone, so overbearingly sweet. His heartbeat picked up on instinct at the sound of it.

“Good morning, mother. There’s something I need-”

“What is it, John?”

He took a breath to gather himself, to will his voice steady.

“John?"

“Cara’s missing."

Silence.

“What?” she said after a few moments, and he didn’t think he’d ever heard her so confused.

“She’s disappeared.”

“Have you spoken to the police?”

“Yes.”

“When did you last see her?”

He paused, knowing they’d be disappointed. He hadn’t lied, exactly, just withheld a truth. It wouldn’t matter to them. But he had developed a tactic over the years to avoid their Wrath. Tears. So he sobbed into his phone, hiccupping and gasping out his words.

“M-months ago.”

“Oh, John, honey,” his mother began and he could hear the heartbreak in her voice. “You should have called earlier. We could’ve-“

“I know!” he wailed, and then dialled it back a little, not wanting to come off too strong, "I thought she’d come back, I didn’t want to make a fuss.”

“Your father and I will drive up, we’ll leave-“

“No!” he said, entirely too loudly. “I already have a bunch of people from church over, helping. There’s no need for you to come.”

“I still think-“

“Please, mother, I don’t want to cause you any inconvenience- She probably just ran away. You know how she is. I’ll come down soon, for a weekend, okay?”

“Alright. This might be for the best, you know,” she began and John grit his teeth as she kept him on the phone for another half hour, rambling about sin and church and inquiring into the details of his life he denied her.

And so, a few days later, he found himself going on breakfast TV, in a crisp suit, hair slicked back.

“We’re joined with John Duncan, one of Atlanta’s rising lawyers, who’s recently posted a $500,000 reward for his missing girlfriend, Cara.”

He’d given much thought to what he was going to say, how much he’d be willing to tell, but it was still difficult to come up with answers on the fly. How they met, the sort of person she was, the circumstances of her disappearance. He had to steer clear of inconsistencies between what he’d told his parents, police, and his friends. Had to avoid tripping over Cara's lies.

“This must be an extremely difficult time for you.”

His eyes welled with tears. He wanted to be as genuine as possible. Attract as much sympathy, draw as much blame away from him.

“That was really something,” the presenter said, clapping him on the back when the interview was over and the ad break began. He wiped away any lingering dampness under his eyes. Of course, he hadn’t actually cried on television- no, he had too much Pride for that, but he’d come embarrassingly close. He left the studio as soon as he could, wanting to get away from their sin. He knew they didn’t care; their concern was ratings. He just wanted Cara back. An end to this madness.

 

~~Past~~

He sent Cara a text the next morning to ask if he could take her out to dinner again. She took a day and a half to respond, but when she did, she said yes.

He met her outside the restaurant, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her in for an embrace. She wore one of the dresses he’d given her.

“Hey, handsome,” she said, her breath tickling his ear. “Shall we go inside?”

She went to pull away but he held her back, leaning in to kiss her. He felt her smile against his lips.

The waiter led them to the table and passed them menus, giving her rehearsed spiel of the specials and recommendations.

He ordered his meal and the most expensive red wine on the menu. Cara chose something that the waiter had said, giving her a warm smile and a thank you.

They talked idly while they waited for their food. They spoke of shared interests, namely, all the things they’d been up to together, and his work.

John felt an easiness between them; she was much more comfortable with him than she’d been on their first date and he, too, with her.

He looked around at the others in the restaurant, mostly couples, a few families, and felt like he and Cara were in on some dark secret. That all of the things they’d done together made them special, different. All the typical people in the restaurant could only dream of a life like theirs.

John looked back at her, his gaze flickering from her inked hands to her red-stained lips to her dark eyes. She met his stare, a smile growing at the corner of her lips.

“What?” she said, and he realised he must look foolish, creepy, even.

He smiled back at her, folding his hands on the table.

“Nothing.”

This warmth he felt was foreign to him, but he liked the way it sat in his chest. He embraced it, perhaps too quickly, too fully, but he let her flood all the cold parts of him.

Once they finished, he drove her back to his place, one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh. He saw her wince, ever so slightly, as she climbed out of the car and he wondered if it was because of her spine. He looked at her with concern but she brushed him off with a smile. The doorman greeted Cara by name, and to John's surprise, she returned the gesture.

“I see you’ve been making friends,” he said in the elevator, snaking an arm around her waist.

“Timothy is quite the gentleman,” she replied, her laughter light and teasing.

He almost made a joke about inviting him to join them, but thankfully thought better of it.

He closed the door behind her, pressing her against it and peppering kisses against her throat. He eased her dress off of her shoulders, turning her around to unzip the back. He peeled the garment off of her and kissed one of the scars that intersected her spine. She stepped out of it and he grasped her hand, leading her to his room.

“Wait,” she said, laughing gently. “I don’t want it to crease.”

She reached down and picked it up while John watched, his lips pulled in a smirk, as she walked across the room in her lace underwear and heels to drape it over a chair. He was glad she cared so much about something he’d given her, though he did find it amusing.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked, chuckling, as he wrapped his arms around her.

He saw the mischief in her lips, in her eyes, as she replied.

“No, not yet, but I think I may be soon.”

He kissed his way down her neck, breathing laughter against her flesh, while she deftly unbuttoned his shirt.

“Most definitely, my dear,” he promised, his hands travelling lower, under her ass as he lifted her. She wrapped herself around him as he carried her to his room and set her down on the mattress.

She made quick work of his belt while she kneeled on his bed, standing before her to kick off his shoes.  
She laid back against the pillows while he shadowed above her, unbuckling and taking off her heels, letting them fall to the floor.

He pinned her down, one arm holding hers above her head, while the other ventured below.

She struggled against him and at first he thought she was teasing, but then her efforts turned desperate. She thrashed against him, wild, jerking movements.

“Cara, stop,” he said, watching her in horror, but she didn’t hear him. “Cara!"

He released her completely and she sat up, shifting away, her cheeks damp with tears.

He reached for her, moving her hair out of her eyes, brushing it behind her ears.

“What was that?”

She looked at him, eyes wide with fear. He could see words on the tip of her tongue, but some wall held them back from him.

“Cara...” he said, taking her hand, but she didn’t reply.

He was full of confusion. And he was offended, too. He hadn’t done anything to her, hadn’t hurt her. He didn’t deserve this reaction.

 _Fragile_ , Luka’s voice called in his mind.

He studied her for a moment, trying to piece together some answer in her absence of one, from the clues she’d given him.

“Someone tied you up, didn’t they?”

Her body tensed and she pulled her hand away from him. He knew he was right.

“You can talk to me.”

She swallowed, caught in some sort of mental conflict, and then rose quickly, dashing to the bathroom, switching on the light as she went. He followed.

She turned the tap on to hot, let the water run until it was scalding, steaming off the faucet.

“What are you-“

She thrust her wrists under the stream, wincing at the burn.

“Cara, stop!” he said, pulling her arms away and shutting off the tap.

“I’m showing you. Look.”

She held her wrists to him. He looked at the skin at the inside of her wrist, reddened from the water, and there were scars there, visible from the heat and the bright bathroom lights. Two lines, where her palm met her wrist, less than half an inch thick.

He took her hands in her own and turned them over, holding his breath, and it continued, wrapped around her wrists like bracelets. He traced his thumb over them as they started to fade, becoming faint once more. If he really looked, he could still see them, barely there against her pale skin.

“Who did this to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her parents, he guessed, hatred festering in his gut, but just nodded.

“That’s why you don’t like hot showers?”

A hint of a smile ghosted her face.

“No, John, I like the cold.”

He wasn’t sure if she was joking.

He ran his thumb over her snowflake tattoo, just overlapping with the scars and brought her palm up to his lips.

“I’m sorry, Cara. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I won’t do it again.”

She moved her hand across his cheek and leaned in to kiss him.

Part of him wondered if it was to drop the subject, but his hands settled on her waist nonetheless, drawing her close.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked and she nodded.

He guided her to the lounge, stopping to put on a pair of pants.

She took a blanket in lieu of clothing, draping it around her shoulders.

They shared red wine together, while she sat tucked in his arms on the sofa.

He told her stupid things his colleague Mark had done around the office while she laughed.

Eventually, he drew her in for a kiss and she straddled him, letting the blanket pool around her waist.

She bit down on his bottom lip.

“Take me to your bed, John.”

He wanted to ask her if she was sure, tell her that she didn’t have to feel obligated, but he didn’t. Instead, he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, placing bruising kisses on his collarbone.

She settled back against the pillows, tracing her fingertip over the plane she’d tattooed on his arm while he leaned over her.

“I want to show you something else, John."

“Yes?”

“You want to mark me,” she said, as a statement.

He looked at her tattoos, remembered the prick of a needle as she marked his flesh. He wouldn’t deny it.

“You have a knife, yes? A switchblade or something?”

He paused, looking down at her in shock.

“I’m not going to cut you, Cara!”

Especially not after she’d already lost it once tonight.

“Trust me,” she said with a smirk, trailing her hand down his chest. "It heightens pleasure. I can show you, if you’d like.”

“I-“ he began but his words died on his lips as she licked hers, hand travelling lower down his abdomen.

“Would you like me to?”

He stalled. She’d been right before. They’d already crossed so many lines together, fuck it, what was one more?

“Yes.”

A grin spread on her lips, like he’d blessed her with some fine gift.

He reached over into his beside table drawer and pulled out a Swiss Army Knife that’d sat forgotten for some time.

She took it from him and hooked her leg around his waist, flipping them over. His hands traced down her sides, resting on her hips, as she eased herself onto him, hand splayed on his chest for support.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” she said, amused.

“You _are_ holding a knife.”

She grinned, gave him a melody of laughter and twirled it in her hand.

“True."

She rode him until he almost forgot about the knife completely, too caught up in her breasts, her lips, the warmth inside of her, but just as he was about to reach his peak she pressed it to the flesh above his hip and traced it across him in a straight line.

He hissed in pain as he came, the pleasure-pain igniting something deep within him.

She slid off of him and kissed her way down to the wound, followed the path of the knife with her tongue and he groaned as she licked the blood clean from his flesh.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said, putting the blade in his hand, curling his fingers closed around it. He swallowed.

She rolled off of him and he followed her lead, hovering over her. He kissed his way down her chest, her stomach, her hips, and delighted in the sounds she made as his tongue found its way to her core. He couldn’t tell as well as she could when she was about to crest, but he took the tug she made on his hair as a signal.

He held the knife, to the same spot on her body, ran his hand over the unmarred flesh, just below her Lust tattoo.

He cut, slowly, mesmerised, across her skin. He watched as little red beads of blood bloomed from their roots in her veins and streamed away.

He ran his thumb over them, smearing blood like paint. Too deep, he thought, by the way the flesh opened up. More valley than stream. She didn’t seem to mind though, pulling him back up to her. She took his hand in her own and brought it to her lips, licking the blood, her blood, off of him, looking him in the eye. His breath hitched in his throat. His eyes flickered between hers, her lips and the word Pride written on the side of her hand. She laughed, the sound gentle and light and kissed him, the taste metallic on his tongue.

“I knew you’d like it,” she said, and kissed him again, once, twice, chaste touches. “See? You should trust me.”

He put the bloodied knife back on the side table, hand trembling slightly. She threaded her fingers through his, squeezing tight.

“I do. Much more than would be wise.”

Against all of his better judgement. She giggled, her breath hot on his lips, caressing his cheek with her free palm.

“I understand you, John. Completely. I hope you know that.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, unsure if he should confirm her prideful words. Sometimes he thought she knew parts of him more intimately than he did. The parts he’d tried to bury.

“I should be going,” she told him once he drew back. He groaned but relented, rolling over so he lay beside her. He didn’t need her to stay over, since she’d never showed any interest in doing so, but he didn’t want her to leave so quickly. To fuck him and run like he’d paid her to be there.

She leaned in and kissed his cheek before she stood. He watched as she pulled her undergarments back on and sat on the edge of the mattress to put on her shoes.

She went to retrieve her dress and from the bed he called out,

“Is it wrinkle free?”

She appeared in the doorway, giving him a teasing smile.

“Yes, actually. Do you have a bandage? I’m not wanting to stain it with blood.”

His eyes lingered on the spot by her hip, red mingling with the white lace of her underwear. With his mind slightly less addled by Lust, he wasn’t sure whether to feel guilty or to give into sin once more.

“Yes, in the bathroom cabinet. I’ll show you.”

She followed him, fingertips tracing over one of the scars on his back as he kneeled by the sink. He paused for a heartbeat, momentarily shaken. She rarely sought out his scars, as much as he liked to touch hers. He wondered if the wound he gave her would scar, and part of him sinfully hoped it would. She drew her hand away as he took out the first aid kit, standing up to face her. She went to take it from him but he pulled it out of reach.

“Let me.”

She sat on the edge of his oversized bathtub. He peeled down her underwear and wiped away the blood with a disinfectant wipe. It still wept, but less than before. He applied the bandage, carefully pressing down the edges. His matching wound was much more shallow, it’d already began to clot and heal. He swallowed down rising guilt, like bile in his throat.

She pulled him back to his feet, smoothed his furrowed brow with a kiss.

“Don’t feel guilty. I wanted this.”

“I-“

She smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

“Go back to bed, I’m going to clean myself up a bit."

She reappeared a few moments later, clothed once more and a little less dishevelled.

He went to get up, to show her to the door, but she walked back to him and pressed his shoulder back into the mattress.

“Stay. It’s late.” She carded a hand through his hair. “I’ll show myself out.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, but it came out like a question.

She smiled but she looked sad, too, and he didn’t know why.

“Yes, very.”

He rested back into the pillows as he heard the front door close. He wondered if it was possible to have an ordinary night with Cara. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted one.

A small, selfish part of him wondered if she’d cut or been cut by Luka, but he’d never ask. That was a level of childish Envy he wasn’t willing to show. Maybe those scars on her hips were given by him, but he wasn’t so sure. Cara seemed more than capable of her own destruction.

He fell asleep to thoughts of her, lying between his Egyptian cotton sheets, and imagined she, too, was thinking of him, tucked in her own bed.

 ~~

The next morning, his ringtone woke him up.

He looked at the caller ID. His mother. He'd tried to distance himself from his parents, now that he’d moved away, but too much so would draw suspicion. The last thing he needed was them breathing down his neck.

“Hello, mother.”

“Good morning, John. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Sorry, I was out on a run,” he lied effortlessly. They wouldn’t approve of his Sloth.

“You sound sleepy. Are you ill?”

She sounded concerned and hate boiled in his stomach at the thought. After all they’d done, they didn’t get to be concerned about him.

“No, just tired.”

“John, Cindy from church was in Atlanta the other week,” she began and John’s heartbeat picked up. “And she told me some troubling news.”

“What?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“She said she’d seen you, at a restaurant. With a girl.”

 _Fuck_.

“Who is this girl, John?”

“Her name is Cara. I-I met her at church.”

He hated having to answer to his mother, having to lie to keep her away, though he’d been doing it most of his life.

“I’m glad to hear you’ve been attending mass. And that she’s Christian, at least.”

“Of course.”

“I knew you weren’t just busy with work,” she said, her voice taking on an edge. “How long were you planning on hiding her from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding her, mother, it was our first date.”

“I hope she isn’t leading you into sin.”

He laughed internally at that, even as his heart pounded loud in his chest.

“No, of course not.”

“Good. You’re planning on marrying her, then? You know, your father and I have been worried about you all alone in the city. I’ve been hoping you’d settle down soon, maybe give us some grandchil-“

“Slow down, mother. We only just met! You wouldn’t want me to rush into anything.”

“Of course not. I’d like to meet her.”

“Mother!”

“It’s been so long since you’ve visited. Bring her down for a weekend. We can decide if she’s suitable.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“But-“

“You aren’t hiding anything from me Johnny, are you?”

“No, I-“

“Then bring her along."

How could he introduce Cara to his parents? His colleagues were one thing, but his conservative, god-fearing parents?

They would have things in common, he reasoned. And she’d done well with his friends. He’d delay it as long as possible, but if it came to it, he might have to consider it. If circumstances changed and Cara was stuck in Atlanta for the long term, it would have to happen eventually.

He hadn’t seriously considered marriage and children, though his parents had already decided that was part of the life he would lead. He tried to imagine Cara as a wife and the thought was humorous, though his heart warmed at the idea of having her around long term.

He looked down and saw dried blood on his skin. Blood stained his sheets, too. Hers and his mingled together. Again he was met with feelings of both guilt and Lust, caught in confusion. In the sunlight, with his mother on the phone, it seemed insane that they’d done this. Their whole relationship seemed insane, honestly. He should probably be more alarmed at the things she’d convinced him to do, but when she was with him he felt so whole that he couldn’t bring himself to question it in more than a passing thought.

His mothers ramblings helped distract him, too, and he realised he’d zoned out while she’d launched into a sermon on the dangers of premarital sex. He made appropriate ‘mhm’s and ‘yes, of course, mother’s for the next hour until he finally managed to get her to hang up. He wished he could be done with his parents, remove them from his life permanently, but short of them suddenly dropping dead, he saw no way out.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @glitterrcritter


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